Getting better
by Fafsernir
Summary: [Mondler high-school AU] His parents have been divorced for half his life, but Chandler still has to deal with the divorce's consequences. He's been on his own for a while, but did he just make a friend?
1. Chapter 1

_After being gone for more than a year from FF, I realized I still had unpublished works, and it'd be a shame not to share them! This was written a year ago, I could probably revise it, but I'm too busy to do that, sorry!_

_It's a high-school AU of Mondler of 15 chapters, nobody else is there except for them (Ross is Monica's brother but he's off to Uni so we don't see him). I've explained important stuff in chapter 1 anyway ;) It's probably a bit later than the year they actually grew up in but there are no reference to a precise period of time. Although the beginning is a lot about Mondler, the second part will focus more on Chandler's parents._

_Chandler and Monica are young, but they do not have the personalities the show gave them when they showed them young. It really didn't fit Monica to have her behave the way she was in the flashbacks. It's closer to the way their adult selves behave in the show, but some things are different. __I've tried to include things Chandler mentions in the show about his parents, but some things also are different in this._

* * *

The air was thick and humid, as a promise of rain. There were clouds, but still no rain, and it had been going like this since the morning. Students were chatting, laughing, sharing... going on with their lives, mostly.

Chandler was bored, as usual. He was sitting near the window, paying only half attention to the ongoing history class. He already knew most of what the teacher was explaining anyway. Not that he was super-smart or anything, but he had just been bored a lot in his life, and had gotten into reading quite a lot since his parents' divorce.

He winced at the thought, shaking his head to snap out of his thoughts. He didn't need to be thinking about that now. History. History was interesting. He could listen instead of think.

He didn't listen. But he didn't think about his parents either, which was a good thing. When the bell finally rang, announcing the end of the day, he sighed heavily and gathered his things, not as quickly as some, but still eagerly. He walked out the school slowly, fought with his bike which was stuck, and almost swore when it finally agreed to come with him. He looked around at the other students for a moment, wondering if he would ever feel as if he fitted, and decided that he wouldn't. It was too late for that anyway. It was his last year in high school, then he could forget about everything and go to College. Not that he had any idea of what he wanted to do. Maybe something with numbers, he was good with numbers, although he didn't enjoy it that much.

Chandler sighed, not wanting to linger on such thoughts, and finally climbed on his bike. He just felt lonely, sometimes. He was used to it, of course he was, but it never stopped being painful. He didn't mind that much once he was at home, with anything he wanted made available, but when he saw all those groups of friends, laughing and exchanging stories, he yearned for the same thing.

He stopped his bike suddenly when he saw an unusual group a bit off the school. There were students he knew well enough to know that they wouldn't hang out with the girl in the middle of their weird circle. She was the girl he was sure felt the same way as he did, which didn't mean that he had ever really tried to talk to her, although he didn't really know why. It was also the sister of one of his former friends, and she looked afraid in the middle of everyone. They probably were making fun of her weight again, and Chandler felt his blood boiling.

"Hey!" he called from his bike, getting off easily. "What's up?"

"Nothing, _jerk_," one of the students muttered.

Nobody was friend with him, but that didn't mean that nobody knew who he was. Or rather, who his mother was, and rich people seemed to scare them off. The group hesitated, probably wondering if it was worth it, but finally broke and walked away while Chandler just stood and waited. He then turned slowly to the girl, smiling awkwardly.

"You okay?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets casually.

"Huh... Yeah," she answered, looking away.

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

"What?"

"Nobody's waiting for me at home," he shrugged.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks," she whispered, starting to walk.

"I assume you remember me," he tried, walking back to his bike and climbing on it, going slowly next to the girl.

"Yeah."

He sighed, wondering why she had agreed to him walking her home if she didn't want to talk. It probably was just to be polite and because he had saved her from yet another humiliation by someone from school. He knew she was an easy target of bullying because she was overweight, and he felt bad for her, but he had never gathered the courage to go speak to her. Not because he was ashamed of being seen with her, but because he was bad at making friends, and he didn't want to say something wrong or hurt her.

She was Ross' little sister, Monica, only one year separating them, which explained why she was now in Chandler's class – he had doubled a year when he was twelve. Ross had been one of his closest friends when he was younger, way before his parents' divorce, but Chandler had put distance with everyone without meaning to, and he had never really connected with Ross again. And losing a year in school hadn't helped him. They still talked if they saw each other, but it happened less and less, especially since Ross had gone away to College. Chandler hadn't really made new friends, but he had been unable to let those guys annoy Monica again. She deserved some rest, and it was just plainly mean and unfair.

"So, huh, how's Ross?" he said, trying to start the conversation.

She glared at him and he regretted his question, looking at the ground. When he noticed she wasn't walking next to him anymore, he glanced back and accelerated only to skid. He did another controlled U-turn a bit after having gone past Monica, and stopped at her level. Maybe he was showing off a little, just because he usually didn't have any audience. At least, she was smiling when he arrived near her.

"He's fine," she finally answered and started walking again.

He grinned to himself as he followed her. He had made her smile! That was all he wanted from people now, to smile at him, not really caring why they were smiling – because of one of his jokes or to mock him.

"So, what do you think of the new history teacher?" he asked, once again trying to make conversation.

This time, she seemed happier about the question and answered, talking with him a bit.

They stopped in front of her house, just for him to explain her something about a president of the United States, and he left after making her laugh one last time. As he pedaled fast to his house, he smiled. He felt a bit less lonely. And he really loved the feeling of the wind against his face and his too-large t-shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for your reviews on my first chapter, I'll try to update regularly (and not forget) I'm glad you seem to enjoy this story's beginning. I also forgot to warn that there will be some hard and serious moments and matters in this fic, so, well, now you know ;)_

* * *

Talking once with someone didn't make that person your friend. Monica wasn't sure whether she trusted Chandler. He seemed nice, but as alone as she was – although for probably different reasons – that didn't mean the losers had to hang out together. It wouldn't help the bullying, to be friends with Chandler. And she didn't even really get why he was alone. He seemed pretty normal, even cool, and his parents were rich, people usually liked that. All she knew was that he had once called her fat, and she didn't know if she wanted to be friends with someone not so different from the bullies. She almost wished Ross had never said that to her. She had just casually been talking with him, and had said that Chandler looked like a good friend and that she didn't understand why they didn't talk anymore. Ross had dismissed the discussion by saying that he had called her fat, and she had never mentioned his name again.

But now he had helped her and walked her home. Nobody had ever taken time to go home with her. And he hadn't even left when she had obviously tried not to talk with him, because all she could think about was how he had called her fat once. That, and his first question had been about Ross. He had sounded like her mother, only worrying about Ross – _Ross_ did this, _Ross_ met that person, _Ross_ got this, _Ross_ is perfect, etc. – and she had hated it. But then he had made her laugh, and they had talked.

But again, laughing and talking together didn't mean being friends. At least, they acknowledged each other, now. They didn't try to find the other the day after, but they talked briefly when they were waiting outside classrooms. He didn't seem to mind being seen with her, and she hoped that maybe they could be friends. She wanted a friend. Even another loser like her.

For a couple of weeks, they simply talked like this – when they saw each other, but without trying to – then she tried to be in the same places as he was. It wasn't until she skipped gym class that they became friends.

She was walking away from the school, trying not to appear too guilty because she wasn't in class, when she spotted Chandler's bike on the side of the road. She walked between the few trees there were then stepped out on another street. Chandler was sitting on a wall, his legs hanging in the air and moving in circles. His eyes were downcast, and she noticed after a few seconds that he was smoking. She had never seen him smoking and was surprised that he did, especially because he looked as if he was already used to it. He blew the smoke in front of him, then lifted his hand to play with it, only to sigh and shake his head. He finally spotted her watching and waved at her to come, his face softening with a smile. He moved his hand easily with a cigarette between his fingers. It didn't seem as if he was smoking because it could look cool, as she had never seen him before and that he was currently alone. She had never found that cool anyway, but others at school did it mainly for this reason.

"You want one?" Chandler offered his pack when he noticed her hesitant look.

"No, I... I don't really like the smell."

"Oh," he said, putting his pack back in his pocket. He took a long drag then put his cigarette away. "Sorry," he smiled, turning his head to blow the smoke away from her face.

She tried not to smile when he stopped smoking for her, and leaned against the wall he was sitting on so he wouldn't see her face.

"Is class over already? Doesn't feel like I've been here for hours."

"Nope," she shook her head.

"_You_'re skipping class? Didn't know you had it in you, Geller," he grinned, nudging her.

"Hey! I can be a bad person!"

"Oh yeah? Do you feel guilty already?"

She turned her head to glare at him, then looked away. "Yeah..." He laughed and she hit his knee. He winced but didn't say anything. "Don't you?"

He seemed to think about his answer and sighed. "Nah. I don't like swimming that much."

"Do you not know how to swim?" she smiled.

"I know how to swim! I'm a master at swimming! It's just... I have this ridiculous swimming suit..."

"Oh, come on, like you can't buy another one."

"Okay, when I was younger my, huh... Whatever. What about you?"

"The doctor said I shouldn't swim. But I love swimming!"

He gave her a perplexed look and she tried not to break. To her relief, he spoke before. "Yeah, sure. I guess we just both don't want to give people more material to make fun of us, huh?" he said, playing with his hands.

"People don't make fun of me!" she gasped, then sighed. "Who am I kidding? Yeah, I suppose I'd rather skip class."

They stayed silent for a while, Monica wondering what was Chandler's real reason not to go to swimming classes. Of course, he knew she didn't want because people made fun of her for her weight, and what better occasion than when she was in a bathing suit? But Chandler wasn't overweight, he even was rather too skinny. Did people make fun of thin people as well? That was stupid to make fun of both! Was there only a certain weight that was acceptable? Not too skinny, not too chubby?

Or did Chandler have another reason? He had started to say something and stopped, so maybe there was more to it than weight. Maybe he had scars on his body? Was he beaten at his house? No, she knew he didn't see his parents much. Maybe by his babysitter? Or a servant? Did he have any of those? She probably was over thinking it. He could just dislike being half naked in front of people, that was possible too. No need to have a tragic story for hating public swimming pool.

"Where do you go on your lunch breaks?" she asked, out of nowhere. She just wanted him to talk, make her laugh. And she genuinely had no idea where he was eating at, because he always disappeared.

"Anywhere," he shrugged. "I bring something or buy it, and eat it somewhere quiet." He paused and studied her. "Do you want to eat with me next time?"

"I don't want to annoy your friends," she said, inwardly happy that he had asked.

"You're my only friend," he sighed, then quickly chewed his bottom lip, his eyes going wide. "I mean, if- I just assumed that..."

"It's okay," she laughed. "It's just friendship, how do you behave for relationships if you panic like this now?"

"Mostly? I avoid them," he nodded thoughtfully, then smiled when she laughed again. "Sorry I'm... Well, me."

"Don't be sorry, I like it."

"You mean you like me?" he grinned.

"Sure, whatever."

"Oh, come on, admit it!"

She refused and he insisted, until she admitted liking him while rolling her eyes. He accepted it like this.

They talked more, often laughing, and waited a bit after what should have been the end of their class before walking home. Chandler pushed his bike this time, walking next to Monica – he made it fall twice by talking with his hands too much.


	3. Chapter 3

_Again, thanks for your support! I know it looks like I'm switching from Chandler's perspective to Monica's each chapter, but it won't acutally be like that after. I think I intended to do that but then just gave up because it didn't fit the story? Anyway, enjoy :D_

* * *

The ball hit the wall and bounced back, almost right into the racket. Chandler moved a bit to hit it again, trying to add a spin to the ball. It was only good if it was difficult.

As he hit the tennis ball over and over, he quickly got bored. Not that he stopped, it helped him to take his mind off things. He grunted as his mind instantly got back to what he didn't want to think about as he thought that, and hit the ball a bit too hard. He dodged it when it bounced back, aware that he wasn't quick enough to hit it again.

Chandler stared after the ball, which landed – or rather dived – in the pool behind. He sighed, shaking his head, and took a new one from his pocket to punch his frustration away, quite literally.

"Mister Chandler," a voice interrupted him, and this time Chandler didn't dodge, the ball hitting his stomach.

He voiced his pain, half directing it at the house girl – he had begged for a girl, just so he would stop surprising his mother, or father when he was here, in bed with the newly hired house boy each time – and rubbed his stomach. "I told you to call me Chandler," he groaned.

"But your mother insists that—"

"Ugh, whatever," he waved at her to dismiss whatever she was going to say. They'd had this conversation too many times already. "Is there a problem, Helen?" he frowned, putting his racket down to drink some water. He hoped nothing was wrong, or it would confirm his theory that this day was the worst.

"Someone's here for you."

He rolled his eyes. _Please, let it not be something from Mom_. "Who?"

"Monica, she says you go to school together."

_Oh, thank God. _"Show her the way, she's a friend."

"A friend?" Helen asked. Chandler grinned and nodded, the happiness in Helen's face warming his chest.

She hadn't been working here for long, but she seemed to care about him, and he had started to like her. It helped that he saw her more than his own mother.

She disappeared and he sighed, putting his drink away and kneeling in front of the pool as one of the three tennis balls he had dropped in earlier came near the edge. He grabbed it and jumped on his feet, holding it out triumphantly. Monica arrived at this moment of incredible dignity and burst out laughing.

"Hey, don't judge me!"

"I'm not," she grinned. "So... You're a tennis lover?" she asked, looking around the huge backyard.

"Yeah, I like it. I can even play alone! What's not to love?"

"You always play alone?"

"Mostly," he shrugged. He put the wet ball with the dry ones and motioned for her to sit on one of the lounge chairs by the pool. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking on you! You didn't seem that happy about Thanksgiving." He shrugged at that, not having told her about his hatred for this holiday. "My Mom's busy in the kitchen, but I made you something," she smiled shyly. "But I couldn't really use anything Thanksgiving-y, so I just made you an apple pie, I hope that's fine?"

He smiled as she handed him a small pie. "That's perfect, thanks."

Chandler loved her cooking. When they had started to eat together, she had quickly noticed that by "buying something to eat" he meant buying or bringing some pastry, if anything. He wasn't usually hungry at lunch, but she had decided otherwise and had brought him lunch a few times, until it had turned into the two of them daily eating what Monica prepared for the day. And he loved it, even if he could never finish it. Monica actually finished for him most of the time, although she hadn't the last couple of days.

They had become great friends over the weeks, speaking easily to each other and enjoying each minute they spent together. They talked about anything, Chandler usually starting off the conversation by telling her what he had watched on TV, then they ended up talking for hours. They tried to hang out during the weekends, but Chandler had never invited her over before. She knew where he lived, but had never entered.

They walked around the yard as he showed her everything he had – a lot – but Helen interrupted them as Chandler was explaining how exactly he had made a hole in the slide of his old jungle gym because, apparently, it wasn't made for teens over fourteen.

"Your dad arrived," Helen said.

Chandler froze, turning towards the house in fear. "What about my Mom?"

"She will be here soon."

He swore under his breath and dragged Monica by her arm, walking around the house instead of going back in.

"Were you parents out of town?" Monica asked, confused.

Chandler stopped suddenly, shoving her against a wall and bumping his head against it as well.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I have to tell you something, but right now you need to go..."

"Do they want nobody here?"

"Oh no, they quite like it when a _lot _of people are here. Let's just wait here for a while."

"How long?"

"Don't worry, you'll know it when we can move without being seen," he said, checking sometimes to see when his mother's car would arrive.

"Are you ashamed?" Monica asked after a while, hurt in her voice.

"Believe me, you're not the one I'm ashamed of."

She seemed to study his words, then tapped his arm. "Hey, Chandler..."

He turned fully to Monica, blushing slightly at how close they were. Hopefully she wouldn't notice. "Yeah?"

"You know you can talk to me?"

"I know," he smiled, squeezing her arm reassuringly. "I'm just... It's my parents."

"Yeah, I noticed you weren't comfortable when we talked about parents."

"Uncomfortable is my middle name," he said, then paused. "Actually, it's better than my actual middle name." When she seemed to be waiting for more, he shook his head vehemently. "Oh, I'm not telling you my middle name, nu-uh!"

"Come on," she nudged him, but he kept his mouth shut. "Okay, I've got another question."

"Is it embarrassing?"

Monica fake-thought for a moment, but she was grinning. "I was wondering if I could play tennis with you next time? It could be fun!"

"Oh. Sure! Can we talk about it tomorrow, though? My Mom is in the house, wait a second and you'll have your signal."

Monica stayed silent, listening, and it started yelling only seconds after. Her eyes widened and she turned to Chandler.

"Good luck," she said emphatically, and he mouthed a thanks in response.

He quickly walked her out of his mother's property, and silently made his way back to where he had left his tennis racket.

Maybe if he hit the ball hard enough, they would stop screaming at each other. He hadn't expected much, but maybe at least five minutes without starting to argue would have been a start. They weren't even married anymore. They didn't even have to stand in the same room! Couldn't they just ignore each other? Why was his father coming for Thanksgiving anyway? They all seemed to hate this holiday.

Well, he actually had an answer for that. Chandler's own lack of response to his father's letters and calls meant that he came all the way from Las Vegas when he could – often for Thanksgiving, his birthday and sometimes Christmas. He wasn't sure anyone enjoyed the visits, but his father still came, because he was his son. Not that he had said that when he had run off with the house boy eight years earlier.

Chandler suddenly turned, his anger building up, and threw his racket in the water. He wanted to get his frustration out, but breaking his racket on the ground would draw attention to him, so he had settled for a middle-way – albeit a dramatic one. He then slumped into one of the chairs, rubbing his palms against his eyes. _If they could just stop screaming._ He covered his ears when the yelling became too much. _Shut up, shut up_, he thought, shutting his eyes. They just never changed.

Covering his ears and pretending that he was somewhere else didn't work – it had never worked – and he stood suddenly, almost jogging to the very end of the yard to take out one cigarette with his shaking hands. It calmed him a little and he breathed more freely, pacing as he smoked.

He finally sat down on one of the swings of his old jungle gym, looking around the place he had grown up in. Everything was just a painful reminder that he was an only child and had spent a rather lonely childhood. Only one of the two swings was used – to the core, it wasn't safe to even sit on it now – while the other was still perfectly intact. There was a ping pong table but only one side was opened. The other's only use was to hit the ball against it when Chandler played. He wasn't even sure where the other paddle was, actually.

There weren't any toys in the pool, or anything to have fun with, even alone. He liked to swim, but he didn't enjoy playing – especially not alone. He could see his bike – which he knew he didn't use to hang out with friends, but to go to school or ride around, alone – some abandoned art supplies – he wasn't a good artist, but he had tried... He knew he was lucky to have all this, that his parents were able to afford a lot of things, but it didn't change the fact that he had been a lonely kid since his parents' divorce. Sometimes he wondered if they hadn't bought him all that as a way to try to be good parents, as they had royally failed at that a long time ago.

But you couldn't buy your child's love. Not that he didn't love them, he truly did, but he didn't have any relationship with them. His mother was too busy with her book tours and writing new books – and "searching for ideas" in an umpteenth lover's arms – to take care of him. Or even to care about him. He knew that she loved him but, again, they didn't have any mother-son relationship. His father was another problem. It was more Chandler's choice to avoid him than his father's, but he had his own reasons.

His eyes were still scanning his surroundings, and he stopped on the pie on one of the chairs. He smiled. He was glad he had found Monica, even if he was terrified that she would run away when he'd finally talk about his messed-up family. Monica was the proof that he could make friends, or at least he hoped so.

After a while, Chandler decided he'd had enough of his parents – already – and stepped into the house, both adults stopping when they saw him. They would start again soon, and he would be the main subject of their disagreement – he was too used to it to even be surprised – but at least for a few minutes he wouldn't have to hear their stupid arguments.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend following Thanksgiving had been awful for Chandler. He had called Monica to warn her that he wouldn't be able to see her, and had spent half the weekend between awkward, uncomfortable silences and his parents talking badly to each other. Or of each other while they were in the same room, taking their son as a messenger. He had been angry the whole time, and he hated when they all were in the same room because everyone just seemed so upset, and still they kept being together. Not that he wanted to be alone in a room with his father. Or with his mother, for that matter, he didn't really have anything to tell her either.

They had stopped yelling, at least. They still criticized the other, but they were using sarcasm or irony, and Chandler accepted it more. And finally, _finally_, his father had left and his mother had withdrawn to her writing office.

He hadn't seen his mother again during the week, although Helen kept him updated of her whereabouts – when it seemed important – and when he learned that he would be alone for the weekend, he invited Monica for that promised tennis game.

They made a few long exchanges, until Monica told him it was boring and smashed the ball, scoring with a happy scream that made Chandler laugh. He followed her lead, playing to win, until he realized that she hated losing. He promised himself not to win, because she scared him a little when she was upset, but didn't have to pretend a lot as she turned out to be quite okay.

They stopped when she won a game, and sat in the chairs, much like they had during Thanksgiving. Just as he was getting comfy, it started to rain and he grunted, both friends running inside. They laughed, trying to catch their breaths, and slumped into the couch in the living-room.

"Your house is awesome!" Monica said breathlessly. "Did we play for a long time?"

He chuckled, checking his watch. "Mmh... About twenty minutes. Wanna eat something?"

Her eyes lit up, but she shook her head in the end. "Twenty's huge!" she said. Chandler smiled, nodding. "Hey, Chandler?"

"Yup?" He pursed his lips, turning to her.

She straightened in the couch and ran a hand through her hair. "Why... erhm... Do you parents fight a lot?" she asked shyly.

He sighed, knowing she would bring it up again at some point. He had expected her to ask questions after the Thanksgiving accident, but she had said nothing for the whole week. She probably didn't want to mention it at school, and he was grateful for it, but now that he was given the opportunity to talk about it, without risk of being interrupted, he felt the urge to do so. He had never really felt like talking about that before, probably because of that shrink that kept wanting to worm it out of him when he was younger. He had never liked him and confessing things to him had never gotten him anywhere. But now Monica was offering to listen, and he was ready to talk.

"They're divorced. They have been for the past..." he paused, thinking. "Eight or nine years? It's been quite a while."

"Oh, I remember Ross mentioning something like this!" Monica exclaimed, then apologized for interrupting him.

"It's okay," he smiled. "I can't remember a time when they were not fighting, but after they announced it, I thought it would stop, you know? It didn't. They just start shouting when they see each other, and it's—ugh. So annoying."

"Do you know why they do that?"

"Honestly?" he scoffed. She nodded and he looked away. "Me."

Monica gasped and put her hand on his arm. "Hey, it's not true..."

"Thanks, but it is." He put his hand over hers, smiling weakly. "They wouldn't be speaking anymore if it weren't for me. And a lot of their arguments evolve around me. When I was younger, my father kept saying that he was only there because of a stupid condom that hadn't worked, and even said my Mom did it on purpose – which wouldn't surprise me that much. My mother said he was using her for... erhm..."

"What is it?" Monica frowned when Chandler didn't seem to be finishing his sentence.

Could he say that? Would she still want to talk to him? He just _needed _to get it all out. "He was using her as a way to tell himself he wasn't gay."

"Your father's gay?"

"Oh yeah, big time," he nodded energetically, at the same time worried she would leave. He squeezed her hand a bit tighter. "Kinda why the whole marriage thing didn't work out, mainly."

"Hey," she said softly. "You're not your parents." He snorted, but the words still reassured him a little. No, he wasn't. He didn't want to be like that. "What about now, though?"

"Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Apparently, I smoke because of my mother, and I'm not popular because of my father... I try not to listen to them anymore. It's like annoying background noises. I mean, they fight about anything now, really. Even about how straight this painting is," he added, pointing at a painting on the wall. It worked and Monica chuckled.

"I'm sorry it's like this at home," she eventually said, when she realized he was probably done speaking.

He smiled at her and she let go of his hand to drag him into a hug. He laughed uncomfortably but didn't move, sighing in her shoulder. He wasn't used to hugs, certainly not from friends, and he closed his eyes as the two strong arms around him seemed to chase his doubts away. She was his friend, and what he had just said didn't change anything. God, and he actually loved hugging?

Chandler smiled at the thought and thanked Monica, talking in her hair. When they pulled apart, both had tears in their eyes, but they said nothing about it.

"Is that why you're... awkward, even in friendship?"

He laughed, nodding. "Yeah, that didn't help with self-confidence. Or esteem. Or just, liking yourself, you know."

Chandler couldn't really remember a time when he had felt good with himself. Most days, he was okay, sometimes he simply hated himself. Maybe when he was young, he hadn't, but he really couldn't remember that time. He blamed himself – and that bloody house boy – for his parents' divorce and blamed them for how everything had fucked him up. He was uncomfortable in public, awkward in friendship, he fled relationships – not that people his age all were after love, but he was deadly afraid of it – he had made only one friend in years, his sarcasm sometimes depressed him, and he had been mocked and judged for smoking – even if it had gradually died out as he grew up. He wasn't sure he would have been better without his parents divorcing, but he couldn't know, and it was easier to blame it on the divorce. Maybe he hadn't reacted well to it, not that there was a good way to deal with a divorce. And everything that his (already) bad shrink had said had lost all meaning when he had surprised his mother and said-shrink banging in the living-room. Just the memory of it sent shudders down Chandler's spine.

"Chandler?" Monica asked loudly, and he realized he had been thinking for too long, and she had called him a few times already.

"Yeah?" He played with her hand, noticing she had taken his again. He liked the feeling of her fingers between his.

"Is it... Did the divorce make it more livable?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think they did good, divorcing, as they didn't love each other?"

"Why are you asking?" he frowned, trying to understand her, and to find a good way to answer.

"It's just that..." She hesitated, looking at their hands and chewing her bottom lip. "My parents sometimes argue, not like yours, but they do. I don't feel like they love each other that much anymore, sometimes. It's like... They've been married for so long, they have two kids and the house, it's comfortable and they appreciate each other at least, but... It just feels like they're together because it's easier that way," she sighed, not sure herself how to describe her parents' relationship.

"If they've been together for years, it's normal that the flame isn't burning hot anymore. I guess?" Chandler chuckled. "I'm not the best person to ask this question to."

"I don't want to ask it to anyone else," she confessed in a whisper.

He blinked at her for a few seconds, touched by her words, and smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure they still love each other, but they're always living together and it's normal for couples to go through tough times when they don't look as much in love as they... should?"

"But it looks boring, and love is supposed to be... Beautiful, and eternal!"

He didn't answer, staring at her, then shook his head. "I have no idea what love is supposed to be like, but I believe everyone loves in their own way. Maybe your parents just love each other in their own particular way. Maybe you're right, though, I don't know. Are you... are you okay?" he frowned, suddenly worried. Was it going badly at home for her too?

"I'm fine," she quickly assured him. "It's just... Nah, it's ridiculous," she dismissed her sentence with a wave of her free hand, the other still holding Chandler's.

He grinned at that, nudging her. "Oh, come on, my father is currently starring in a drag show in Vegas, I don't think I can find anything ridiculous anymore." Monica stared at him, unsure of how to react, or even whether he was telling the truth. He seemed to realize his words as he shook his head, "don't ask."

She laughed, then played nervously with his fingers. "I've just always pictured love to be... the ultimate goal, in a way. If you have that, then you have everything. But seeing my parents, it looks as boring as... the rest of life," she squeezed his hand, shaking her head. "And with your parents? It just sounds more and more like a fairytale as we grow up."

"Aw, it's okay," he smiled, bringing her into a clumsy hug – he really liked that – and kissing her hair. "You'll find your prince in shining armor!" She laughed and he smiled in response. "Seriously, I'm sure you'll find someone that will also think that love is a never-ending adventure rather than settling into a boring daily routine."

She looked like she was about to protest, but the confidence in Chandler's eyes prevented her from doing so. He really believed she would find what she wanted. Anyone would be stupid not to see how amazing his friend was.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, until Chandler turned the TV on, making fun of whatever was being broadcast.


	5. Chapter 5

"Chandler?"

He ran to the opposite baseline, hitting the ball with a grunt. "Yeah?" he breathed out, following the ball with his eyes.

"I lied," Monica said, scoring only because Chandler froze briefly.

"You what?" he asked, running to the net in the middle. He hugged his racket, a cute thing Monica had noticed he did a lot, worry painted on his face.

She tried to catch her breath, making the suspense awful for Chandler. What had she lied about?

Weeks of knowing each other had turned into months, and they were still hanging out a lot, still talking for hours, and it still felt amazing for the both of them. Chandler couldn't even begin to describe how good it felt to have a close friend he was so at ease with.

They had shared some deep, embarrassing secrets, but hadn't really mentioned family matters anymore. It had felt good to talk once, but Chandler hadn't felt the urge to talk about his fucked-up family again. He sometimes made a joke about it, but Monica had understood – without him having to explain – that if he joked about something, it often meant he didn't want to have a serious conversation about it, so she didn't ask.

Somehow, he sensed that Monica wanted to talk about a family matter.

"Can we take a break?" she asked hesitantly.

"Please!" Chandler exclaimed, now scared of what was wrong. "What do you mean you lied?" he said after they had walked into his house. It was early January, so when they could actually play tennis, they didn't linger during breaks or after stopping.

They sat, both sighing, and Chandler put a blanket over them to warm their bodies more quickly.

"You once asked me if I was happy at home," Monica started, playing with the soft blanket to busy her hands and avoid looking at Chandler.

"Yeah?" He didn't exactly remember when he had asked that, but he knew she had answered positively.

"Well, I'm not sure I was entirely right..."

"Wh-what? What happened?"

Fearing the worst, the few seconds of silence that followed his beginning of panic felt like hours. It was long enough for Chandler to imagine awful possibilities.

Monica fidgeted on her seat, then flattened the blanket nervously. "It's just... My Mom's the worst!" she eventually burst out. Chandler simply stared at her, not expecting this. He didn't know what to say, and just made a noise that pushed her to continue, apparently. "Ross was here for the holidays, and it was even worse than any previous time."

Finally, Chandler offered some support and put his arms around her shoulders as a sign that she could talk to him. She did, revealing things Chandler hadn't suspected. He had only met the woman twice, briefly, but Monica's mother had seemed decent enough. Apparently, Chandler didn't have the best comparisons in the world as his own mother was barely at home, wrote erotic novels, and had never known or learned how to take care of her unwanted child. So he discovered Monica's jealousy towards her brother, not so much because of what he was achieving – Chandler wasn't sure anyone could be jealous of someone studying paleontology – but because of how their mother put her son on a pedestal, especially because she never missed an occasion to dig Monica's grave at the same time.

Monica talked about how critical her mother was, always asking hurtful questions, always spotting details that annoyed her about her daughter, always putting her down at every opportunity – about her weight, or lack of friends, or lack of ambition, or grades that never were as good as Ross'... She sounded like a witch towards Monica.

Chandler would never truly relate to it, but as she talked, confessing her insecurities and feelings to him, he remembered his imaginary friend, and how his parents had seemed more interested in his imaginary friend's life than his own. It wasn't exactly the same feeling – because he had been able to mentally kick his imaginary friend and pretend he could totally win a fist fight against him – but it gave him a slight idea of how Monica could feel. Only she felt even worse, and he had been pretty crushed by this whole imaginary friend's thing.

He soothed her back and tried to say empty promises, until he realized he could as well shut up and just listen, which he did. He didn't understand why Monica's mother behaved like this, not helping her daughter, and even putting her down. She was no better than the bullies at school, and Chandler hated them.

Monica explained that everything had worsened during the holidays, because Ross had come home for Christmas bearing great news. He was in a relationship with a lovely girl, and basically just seemed to have everything in her mother's eyes. She hadn't missed the new opportunity, asking more than once when would Monica have a boyfriend, and it had depressed and upset Monica.

"C'mon, at least tell yourself that neither of your parents tried to kidnap you," Chandler eventually said, trying to joke, because that was what he did best in serious situations. That was what he only knew how to do.

"Why are you saying this?" Monica suddenly said, not looking so happy.

"To cheer you up?"

"It just makes me feel sorry for you!" she snapped. Chandler opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "Stop joking about everything! It's not funny. You're no better than everyone else, I knew it. I should have listened to Ross. If you called me fat once, why would _you_ change?"

"What?" Chandler simply said.

What was she talking about? Why was she suddenly angry at him for joking? He did that, he joked, he was Chandler, he was awkward and trying his best to lift other's spirit with sarcasm. And why was she suddenly lumping everybody together? He had never bullied her, had he? Oh God, what if he had?

Monica seemed ready to scold him, but decided against it and jumped on her feet. "Why don't you ask _Ross_?" She spat the name, and Chandler flinched, afraid.

Chandler expected to be yelled at, or Monica to lecture him on everything she didn't like about him – and suddenly, he was sure that the list was extremely long – because that was how argument usually went. Listing flaws and mistakes, naming people and yelling, asking a third party to have an opinion on the fight. At least, that was how his parents fought.

Monica didn't do any of that. She simply left, slamming the door. Chandler wondered if that was how his parents felt each time they argued. He felt miserable, his heart breaking at the idea that he could have hurt Monica – with his words, and with a joke. He wasn't even sure that he remembered what she was apparently very upset about. He didn't recall calling her fat, but she had mentioned Ross, and he hadn't talked to Ross in years. Maybe he had called her fat when they were younger? But he certainly didn't think it now.

Sure, Monica wasn't thin, but it wasn't what defined her. She was also smart, funny and so, so brave. Chandler respected her, because she was being made fun of, but stayed strong and appeared self-confident. He knew she wasn't, but nobody could tell, and that was what mattered in society sometimes. Chandler wasn't even strong enough to pretend, he was self-loathing, and everyone knew it. The only thing he managed to hide was how sad he could be, thanks to his jokes and fake smiles.

But Monica was so strong, and he had to admit, she still looked cute. And she had the most amazing eyes. Such great eyes. He didn't understand why anybody would criticize her weight while he was just mesmerized by her eyes every time they talked.

Maybe he had developed a crush on her, too. That didn't help. He shook the thought away. He couldn't think like this. First, because Monica was his friend and surely wasn't interested in anything more, and because she had just left his house and she was walking alone outside, and it was already dark. Oh, and she was probably hurt, and it was his fault.

As he ran outside and picked up his bike from the ground, he realized what he had done. He had tried to bring himself down so she would feel better, but that was exactly what was doing her mother. Putting her down so Ross appeared even better. He swore under his breath and tried to go faster, ignoring the rain-maybe-snow that had started to fall.

It took him a few minutes to find her, because she had tried to take a different road from their usual one. When he spotted her – her angry way of walking betrayed her instantly – he went even faster, only to brake a second after catching up with her. Of course, he was in a hurry, not thinking about the road, and it was already a bit wet, so his bike didn't comply easily and he fell on his side, his head bumping the road.

"Chandler!" Monica instantly called, worry taking over anger. She rushed to his side and helped him up. "Are you crazy?!" Okay, maybe she was still angry.

He rubbed the spot where his head had hit the road, wincing, but dismissed the pain, putting his hands on Monica's arms so she wouldn't run away. He wasn't sure pursuing her on his bike was very wise now.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm stupid and I speak without thinking, and I just tried to joke... I know I always do that, but it's... it's just how I am, and I'm not sure I'll ever change, but I'm sorry I acted like a jerk. And I'm sorry that I called you fat, I didn't... Well, I probably didn't care." She moved to free herself at his words, but he tightened his grip. "At the time! I didn't care at the time, I didn't even know you! It was wrong, but I was stupid, okay? I'm sorry if I ever hurt you, I didn't mean to do that."

He panted, trying to catch his breath and determine if he had to say more or could stop babbling. He saw Monica repress a smile and felt his heart calming in his chest. She had almost smiled, it was a good sign!

"So, who tried to kidnap you?" she asked, her face serious but her eyes smiling.

It took Chandler a couple of seconds to know what she was referring to, and he blinked a few times. "Did you mean that?"

She hesitated, studying him, then finally smiled. "Yeah."

He wanted to jump and dance on the spot, but he did nothing, simply offering a huge smile that quickly hurt his cheeks, but he didn't care. Monica wasn't angry at him anymore, and he had made her smile.

"Do you really want to hear the story?" he eventually frowned, not having answered her yet. She nodded as he picked his bike from the ground and started walking her home. "Okay, I was twelve, on my last day in Cub Scouts, and when I got out, I saw this... man, waiting for me. I recognized him, and was surprised to see my father there, especially because I hadn't seen the guy for three years..."

"Three years?!" Monica couldn't help but interrupt him. "Your father? How is that possible?!"

"After the divorce, he tried to stay, but it was just awful, so he fled to Vegas with his lover. He was still trying to figure out what he wanted to do, too."

"But three years? I mean, you didn't have a father during that time, that's... that's awful, Chandler."

Monica seemed sad for him, so he offered another one of his big smiles. "I never really had a father, if you ask me. It's fine, really. Anyway, he was there, looking damn happy and waiting for me. I thought about going with him, really briefly, but then his stupid boyfriend came out the car, and I remembered that he had run away, abandoned us for that man."

He stayed silent for a moment, thinking, and Monica cleared her throat. "So what happened?"

"He wanted me to go with him, to Vegas. I refused. He tried to bait me into the car anyway, but I ran. It was ridiculous, really. My mother arrived at that moment. She was not very happy, I can tell you," he chuckled, even if the memory was a sad one for him.

"That's... I'm sorry, Chandler," Monica said, looking shocked.

"Hey, it's fine. It's a funny story to tell. Of course, you're the first one I tell that to, but you get my point," he grinned.

His heart raced when she smiled back, and he swallowed, looking in front of him instead of Monica's smile, or even her eyes. He wasn't sure this was how a friend was supposed to feel toward another friend, and it scared him. He hadn't paid much attention before, because maybe it was just friendship, but hurting her had really made him feel like the worst human being, and he wasn't so sure he was feeling only friendship towards her now.

But she was Monica. He was Chandler. They were friends, period.


	6. Chapter 6

_Big thanks to the Guest who reviewed this fic and was adorable. I'm glad you like this!_

* * *

Chandler's crush didn't go away. If anything, it grew stronger. He said nothing, because he wasn't sure of what he was supposed to say, and he clearly didn't have the guts to be honest with her about that. He kept his feelings for himself, his slight frustration turning into anger towards his mother's newest boyfriend. He was too perfect, trying too hard, and Chandler hated when his mother over-shared – and she always did.

Monica and he played tennis regularly now. She was really good, her competitive mind helping her crush him most of the times. He was getting yelled at when he won anyway, so he tried not to win too much – although sometimes he just had to, for his dignity, especially when she insulted him of being a whiny girl. They extended their sessions more and more as time passed, and Chandler was glad that it wasn't only him and the wall anymore. He'd never had genuinely good conversations with his wall, anyway.

This time, Monica seemed as upset as he was – he had surprised his mother and that boyfriend of hers fooling around the day before – and their exchanges were more and more violent, until Chandler missed his hit, the ball hitting his thigh. He yelped, almost falling as his leg protested at the pain.

"How about a break?" he panted, lumping out of the court to sit on a chair.

Monica still looked too upset, and she picked up two balls, playing against the wall near the court. Chandler stayed back for a while, rubbing his thigh and looking at Monica. He noticed, not for the first time, that she had lost a lot of weight since they had started playing tennis, and wondered if she was okay. He had never really felt comfortable enough to directly ask her if she was intentionally losing weight, and he wasn't even sure whether he was supposed to ask that. He really sucked at talking to... well, people.

He stood again, walking slowly to Monica, worried to see her so angry. She was clearly pushing her limit, and he opened his mouth just when she hit the ball violently. He stepped back instinctively, hugging his racket.

"Are you okay?" he said, his voice trembling. She could be scary.

"Yes," she snapped, then sighed, ignored the ball coming back, and turned to him. "I don't know."

"What's happening?"

She looked at him in the eyes, then looked away, chewing her bottom lip. She started throwing a ball again, probably so she had an excuse to look at something else. "It's just... Stupid school," she said.

Chandler looked up from his interesting observation of his shoes, frowning. "What happened?" He had been there at school, he was always there, how could something have happened without him noticing?

"What do you think?" she scoffed. "Sorry. The usual, you know."

He looked at his shoes again, thinking about what he could say, but he had no idea of what could make her feel better, so he sighed. "I'm sorry they're behaving like this... When did this happen?"

"Some girls at school."

"I didn't see that?"

"Of course," she huffed. "They don't dare when you're around. It was in the women's."

So, she was being bullied, even in the toilets? Students really were awful human beings, sometimes. Most of the time, in his opinion.

"Can't pee at peace, huh?" he tried to joke, but she wasn't really in the mood.

"Chandler, why did they bully you too? You're skinny," she suddenly asked. She seemed to really wonder, her expression the same as when she was trying to understand a math problem.

Chandler chuckled nervously, hugging his racket a bit tighter. "They used to make fun of me because of my mom's books. Then I told one of the boys that an entire chapter was just a description of his father having sex with my mom, so they stopped with that."

"Was it true?" Monica smiled.

Chandler beamed when he saw the small smile. She was already feeling better! "Yeah it was," he grinned. "And I've been called out on my weight, too. After the divorce, I was either eating too much, or almost not eating at all. Each year I was either too much, or not enough. It gradually stopped when I stayed the same. And you're making me eat quite enough, I think it's perfect now!"

"You think you're perfect?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in a "I don't believe you" way.

"I didn't say that," he smiled. He was more confident about his ability to make her smile now that she seemed in a better mood, so he kept listing the reasons why other children had made fun of him. "My father gave me this ridiculous bike, when I was younger. That didn't go down well. Sometimes, they think I'm just a kid of rich people, so I'm awful just because my parents have money. Of course, I didn't get much compassion when my parents got divorced. Some parents were strongly opposed to divorce, and passed it to their children..." Monica was chuckling now, having stopped playing tennis with the wall. "Should I keep going?" he smiled widely, his heart tightening in his chest as he stared at her smiling.

"Do you have more?" she asked, intrigued.

"Oh there's one." He was happy to see her smile, and didn't really think before talking. "You know how I didn't go to swimming class this year?" She nodded. "Well, my dad humiliated me enough by himself when he sometimes came to encourage me, but the thing is... I kinda have a third nipple thing going on..."

"What?!" Monica exclaimed, her interest suddenly peaked.

Chandler wondered why his mouth had talked before his mind could think properly. It really wasn't something that he liked to share. "It's no big deal," he said casually, inwardly panicking and worrying that he had said too much. He always thought he said too much and feared that Monica might suddenly run away.

She simply laughed. "Where is it?" she asked curiously.

"So you've been losing weight?" Chandler suddenly asked to take the attention off himself. It seemed to work, and Monica shut off almost instantly. Chandler chewed his lip, hesitating. He wanted to ask her about it, but he really didn't want her to take it badly. She wasn't mad for what he had just said, was she? "Erhm, Mon'?"

"Yep?" She looked at him briefly, but quickly averted her eyes.

"Why... huh..." He chuckled nervously. "I was just wondering... Are you... Did... I..."

"We've been over this at school: to make a sentence you need a subject, a verb... an idea of what you're going to say, as well."

He smiled, but shook his head. "Why are you losing weight?" he quickly breathed out, praying she wouldn't slap him.

"So you, er, noticed?" She was as nervous as him and bumped her racket against her shoe to give herself something to do. He shrugged, not sure what to answer. "Well, have you not heard what I said?"

"Are you changing for some stupid kids at school?" He was shocked. She was a fighter, ready to show that their words wouldn't get to her, and he hadn't thought that she would lose weight just because others thought she was too fat. "But why now?" he frowned, trying to understand.

"Okay, I don't care about them, but..." she seemed to be thinking, then looked up, smiling. "Ah! I'm doing this for you."

"Wh-what? Why- Why would you do that?" he stuttered. Why did she want to lose weight because of him? What was that supposed to even mean?

"So... So that you'll like me!" Chandler didn't even see that she was clearly lying, making up things as she was talking.

He simply blushed heavily and hugged his racket even more. Sweet racket protecting him from... whatever was happening. As he realized something, he filed the information of her wanting him to like her away. He wanted to know if she was telling the truth, but it wasn't the most important thing right now. "Why would you do that?" He wasn't blushing anymore, and was even really serious, maybe too serious. "You shouldn't change for someone else, ever. I like you, Monica. You don't need to be like those girls at school, trying to impress the boys. You're smart, nice, a great friend, and believe it or not, you're beautiful. I find you beautiful, so don't... don't change for me, or anyone stupid enough to judge you on how you look, please?"

He probably was revealing too much, and Monica hadn't expected this, but he didn't really care. He didn't want her to think that she had to change because of anyone other than herself. He didn't want her to change because she thought he wouldn't like her how she was. When, clearly, he liked her. A lot.

"You mean that?"

"Of course. You... You're... I mean... Yeah, you're beautiful."

He tried to add something, anything, that didn't make him sound stupid, but his words died under her lips. Her lips. On his lips... What?! His mind was panicking, but his body didn't react, except to respond to the kiss, although he was very stiff. He simply responded, not moving his hands. Maybe he tightened his hold on his racket even more, hurting his fingers, but at least he didn't wake up, which meant that he wasn't dreaming. Hopefully.

She pulled away, looking at the ground. Why was she pulling away? "Sorry, I..."

He didn't think, forgetting his damn racket, ignoring the pain of it falling on his foot when it fell between them, and cupped Monica's face to kiss her again. He loved the feeling of her lips against his, of their hot breaths mingling together, of her hands tightening in his hair... It was probably awkward and clumsy – it was his first real kiss, after all – but it felt amazing nonetheless.

Then Chandler realized that maybe she didn't want that. Sure, she was kissing him back, but the feeling was just so good, she probably wasn't thinking much.

They parted again, Chandler chuckling nervously. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, afraid that he would open his eyes to something he didn't want to see. He only stared into two beautiful eyes looking right at him. Monica was blushing – or at least, her cheeks were red, but it might have been because they had forgotten to breathe correctly between kisses – and Chandler felt his heart racing and his cheeks reddening heavily.

"I... er," he chuckled again, and she laughed with him, both incredibly awkward and probably not knowing what to do. He took a step back and chose to go for the funny friend. He was still afraid of rejection. "That's, er, that's what boyfriends and girlfriends do, and, huh, we're not that."

She looked half-disappointed, half-reassured. Really weird. "Yeah! No! I mean I don't want to be your girlfriend. And you don't want to be my boyfriend, right?"

"No," he nodded, then shrugged. "Maybe I do?"

"Okay!" she excitedly said.

"Okay?"

"I want to be your girlfriend."

"Okay!" he found himself saying before his brain even registered the information. Wait, what? "Really?"

"Do you not want to?"

"I do! I'm just... Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded.

"Oh. Okay." He stared past her at a fixed point, not knowing what to do know. "Is it okay to kiss you again, then?" he eventually asked, still hesitant.

"Yes!"

They found the other's lips again. It was really clumsy at first, neither knowing exactly what to do, but after a while, they got more and more comfortable, her arms found their place around his neck, and his hands felt nice on her waist. They both briefly pulled away when their tongues first met, blushing and chuckling, but then they kissed again, maybe a bit messily.

They gradually kissed less and less, until they just occasionally pecked the other's lips, looking at each other and smiling stupidly. Until Monica opened her mouth, a smile already tugging at her lips. "So, can I see your third nipple?"

"Is that an invitation?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Maybe," she laughed, but then looked serious again, maybe even curious. "No, really, what does it look like?"

He stepped away. Way to break a moment. He wouldn't have done better. Okay, maybe he could have. "I'm not showing you my nipples!"

"Then don't, just that one," she smiled wickedly while he was shaking his head.

"Nope."

"Oh come on, you're no fun."

"I'm fun! I'm the King of fun!" he protested, hugging himself to protect his chest from any possible attack.

"I'm just wondering what it looks like..."

"Well, you'll just wonder a bit more," Chandler said, hoping she wouldn't insist.

"Come on, I'll show you mine!"

He froze, thinking for a second, then shook his head. His eyes stared involuntarily at her covered breasts. "Really?" he asked, which wasn't exactly what he had meant to say. She hit him on the shoulder. "Ouch! You're the one who suggested it..."

"You're a pervert!"

"And you're beautiful."

She frowned, not sure the conversation was supposed to go down like this, but blushed and smiled shyly. She seemed to like it when he said it. He kissed her, just because _he could_, and hugged her. He still loved hugging her, maybe even more so now, and his heart fastened when she hugged him back. Had he really just gotten himself a girlfriend?


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry it took me longer to update this story, I've have a crazy busy week. Thank you for your support, as always! :)_

* * *

Chandler had his feet up on the coffee table, watching some reruns of a show he didn't particularly enjoy – not that he was watching much of it. He was smoking and thinking. He didn't smoke as much as he used to, always avoiding when he was supposed the see Monica soon after. He knew she didn't like the smell. And he didn't feel the need to smoke as much as before, although sometimes it just happened and he had to smoke. This was one of those times. His mother wanted to talk to him and it was never good when she arranged a talk beforehand, although she had said it was good news. Chandler wasn't sure they had the same opinion on good and bad news.

His mind drifted to Monica as he took another cigarette, smiling instantly. They had been together for a couple of weeks now, and it had changed almost nothing, oddly. They were talking as much as before, spending as much time as before – they had done that a lot already, to be honest – and the only thing that changed was that he could kiss her whenever he felt like it. He hadn't dared a lot in the beginning, but now he didn't hesitate. Maybe they held hands more, too. And he sure kissed her hair a lot more, because he loved that. They pretty much hugged as much as before. And everything felt just amazing.

When he had started his new year, he hadn't expected to even make a friend before College, and now he had a girlfriend and she was very real and very beautiful. He felt so lucky to be her boyfriend, and he had opened up a bit more to her, which sometimes felt really good. Some other – rare – times, he felt incredibly vulnerable when he realized just how much he was confiding in her and how dangerous that had proven in the past. He had already said too much about himself to more than one who had turned their backs on him at the first occasion, only to throw back at his face everything he had said. So he had stopped talking, especially about his family, but now Monica was here, and he couldn't help but trust her.

He had talked a bit more about how lonely he had always felt, out of place, and how sarcasm had been his solution to get people to like him after his parents' divorce. It hadn't worked every time, but before he knew it, it was a habit and he had never been able to lose it. He had explained to her how he had ended up smoking and how it helped him. He understood that she didn't approve, but at least she had listened to him. She was trying to get him to quit, but so far it hadn't worked, Chandler unable to think about his life without smoking, even if just once in a while. But he had said that maybe he would try to gradually reduce his number per day until she didn't even notice it anymore.

She talked too, telling him more about her mother, and how her father tried his best to make her feel good. She liked to mention some of the things his father did, and he loved to hear her, glad to see that if he personally barely talked to his father, at least some had a good relationship with theirs.

The door opened, but Chandler didn't move, still thinking about Monica. He stopped, his smile fading, when he saw Bradley walking in. So that explained the "we need to talk" of his mother, rather than the first person. She and Bradley. Perfect looking, rich, great in bed Bradley.

Chandler didn't like Bradley. And he had the feeling that it was mutual.

"Don't smoke in here, young man." Oh, it definitely was mutual. And what was it with his "young man"s?! And with trying to be a father? Chandler didn't need a father. He had one, that he never saw, and he felt great like this.

Chandler didn't answer. He never did. He actually tried to avoid talking to Bradley. His mother looked happy, and he tolerated the presence just for that. It didn't mean he had to like the guy or anything. And he clearly didn't.

"Answer me, and put your cigarette away. Does Nora even know you smoke?"

Chandler just stared at him, then scoffed. "Nora? Not sweet buns? Baby Girl? Pet? You have disturbing nicknames, seriously."

"Are you spying on us?!"

"God, no, I wished I had never heard that," Chandler said, running a hand through his hair.

Bradley suddenly grabbed his arm, snatching his cigarette away and putting it in the ashtray. Chandler straightened in the couch because the man didn't let go of his wrist. "I told you to put it away. Didn't your father teach you good manners?"

"Well, you got that right, at least," Chandler spat, holding Bradley's glare.

It happened quickly. There was a loud snap in the room, but before Chandler could even completely realize that he had just been slapped, Bradley was standing next to Nora, both smiling very happily.

"We're engaged!" Chandler's mother announced as his cheek started to seriously hurt, his eyes watering.

He blinked the tears away and managed to smile, although it might have come off as a grimace. He didn't care. He got up slowly, walking to his mom to congratulate her, but suddenly he couldn't. He just couldn't pretend to be happy. Not this time. Instead, he mumbled something, himself not really knowing what, and stormed out.

He slammed the door and ran to his bike, almost throwing it on the road before going on it. He felt ridiculous, pedaling away. Even thinking about it was ridiculous. Pedaling. What was even that word?

Chandler braked suddenly, the violence snapping him back to reality. He looked at the car passing in front of him, honking, and started again. He didn't even know where to go. He wasn't even sure what he was doing on his bike, running away from his house.

He had never been slapped before.

Well, he had. By kids. Not by an adult. Not by someone he was supposed to trust – although he hadn't, but that was another problem.

His parents had yelled, they had thrown vases and glasses, maybe plates. They had torn pictures, papers and clothes. They had slammed doors, even broken a window once. But they had _never _hit each other, and they had never shown any violence towards Chandler. He had been yelled at too, he had been dragged firmly across a room, but neither had ever slapped him, even when he did something wrong. Mainly because they had rarely noticed anything while he was growing up, but also because they just weren't like this.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. Not only because of the sheer force Bradley had put in his blow, but because Chandler had never seen it coming, and he didn't think he deserved it. That guy wasn't even his father! He hadn't wanted to talk to him and would have gladly ignored him for the rest of his life, but now he couldn't. He had told himself that his mother was happy. Was she? Or was he beating her up too? If he could slap him, why wouldn't he hurt her too? He might not always appreciate his mother's presence, but he didn't want to see her hurting. And she was engaged to that guy?!

He was lost in angry thoughts, tears of rage – and a bit of pain – running on his cheeks, and the second time he didn't brake. He landed rather well on the ground, but his bike knocked over a trash and Chandler stared as the front wheel turned alone for a while.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and got on his feet, ignoring his painful hand. He hesitated only a second, then hit his bike with his foot. "Fuck!" he muttered as pain shot through his body, and anger took over. He felt powerless, and lost. How could a single slap get to him like this?

He fumbled through his pockets, but didn't find any cigarettes, remembering having put the pack on the coffee table, before everything had gone to Hell. He didn't even have money on him. Fucking Bradley and his perfect hair and his perfect smile.

He chose to run next to his bike instead of going back on it, not even thinking of where to go. At least it filled his hands. He wanted to smoke. Scratch that, he _needed _to smoke.

Chandler wasn't sure for how long he ran. He could barely breathe, his lungs were giving out, and he almost fell more than once. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking, either. He was panicking, that was the only thing he knew for sure. He really didn't understand why he was reacting like this. He was scared, mostly. He didn't like violence in general, and he dreaded violence towards him, especially coming from an adult. He was scared that his mother was at risk. He was scared of telling someone. He was scared that maybe Bradley had actually been right to slap him. Was he being insulting? What if he had really done something wrong?

His steps took him to the Gellers' house, and he didn't think, ringing the bell. Before anyone could open, he suddenly wished he had thought about it before. What if Monica's parents opened? What was he supposed to say? What if Monica opened? What could he say? Could he be honest?

Monica opened. He said nothing, just staring at her, still trying to catch his breath.

"Chandler, are you okay?!"

Was he? He didn't know. Probably not. He wasn't even sure he could feel things. His heart was racing, his mind was going everywhere and he couldn't even focus on one thing, his chest hurt, his cheek was still burning where Bradley had slapped him, and his hand was burning. Okay, he could feel things. Mostly pain. He probably wasn't okay.

"Do you..." What? What could he ask? What was he even doing here? "... Have ten dollars?"

He could have slammed his own head against the wall. Money? He was asking for _money_? What the hell, brain?!

"What?" Monica asked.

Yeah, what?

Chandler panicked, more so than before, and caught his breathe, buying himself more time. "I was... literally running across town to, er, find a gift, for, ugh, my mother," he panted. "And I found, er, something. But I need ten more dollars." Hopefully it was convincing. He didn't even know what he was saying. But he knew that he didn't want Monica to know about Bradley. It was useless for her to know. It was just one slap, after all. Nothing to worry about.

"Your mother?" Monica asked as she was searching for her wallet.

"Yeah!" Chandler breathed out, searching for an excuse. "She's engaged." At last, something true. "I'll pay you back tomorrow."

He almost wanted to run away again, leaving Monica alone. But that would be suspicious, so he waited for her to take ten dollars out of her wallet.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah... Just... It was unexpected. It just... you know, slapped me in the face," he joked. How could he joke like this? That wasn't even funny. Sometimes, he pitied himself.

"If you want to talk about it... Actually, I can't, because my mom will probably come in a minute and tell me it's a school day. But you can call here. Or we can talk tomorrow?"

He nodded, looking around, almost expecting Bradley to come out of nowhere, for no reason. "Yeah, tomorrow... I'm fine! Sorry I came here."

"It's okay... Be careful, Chandler." She probably didn't really believe him when he said that he was fine, but she chose not to comment, and he was grateful.

He felt bad for coming, though, and worrying her for nothing. It _was _nothing. So he smiled, hopefully convincingly and stepped closer, pecking her lips.

"Did you smoke?" He looked at her sheepishly and she smiled in response. "Stop being cute so I can't be mad at you."

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Thanks," he whispered, not really sure he was thanking her for the ten dollars she gave him. He was just grateful she was in his life, especially now.

She laughed and watched him leave. He grinned, genuinely this time, and waved at her, almost falling as he wasn't watching where he was going. He sighed as soon as she closed the door. He had heard her laugh, and it was enough to make him feel better, but he was still lost as to what to do with his mother's fiancé – ugh, fiancé.

After a couple of cigarettes – he had bought cigarettes with those ten dollars he had, in the end – he felt calmer, and decided to do nothing


	8. Chapter 8

_Okay I didn't have time to proofread this chapter, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. My computer charger thought it'd be funny to twist and break. So, there's that. And yes it's where I write and type my class on. Yeepee._

_I'm saying it one last time and then I'll stop (I promise haha) but I opened a ko-fi page, it's a way to give back to creators who don't get paid for what they do. You donate the price of a coffee, hence the name. If you search on Google "fafsernir ko-fi" you'll find my page, and if you want to give something, I'll greatly appreciate any help. _

_Thanks for your attention, enjoy the reading, and thank you for all your reviews :)_

* * *

"Okay, okay," Monica laughed, trying to speak at the same time she was trying to catch her breath, "what's the stupidest reason you were in detention for?"

Chandler and she were sprawling on the couch, talking and laughing as they asked each other silly questions. He had started the game, asking a random question, and they were now shouting one as soon as they could think of something new. They were hanging out, waiting for Chandler's mother to come home as she had insisted on eating with them.

Thinking of his mother, Chandler grinned. "I had it coming..."

"What did you do?"

"Okay, so, the teacher kept shushing me, but I wasn't even speaking. I'm not saying I was listening to him, but still! I wasn't doing anything, but he was so annoying, and he asked us to have something signed, but he insisted on it and looking right at me. I knew he was doing this because I often didn't make my parents sign anything, but I just told him that if he wanted an autograph from my mum, he could just ask. He didn't appreciate it."

"I'm sure the class laughed," she smiled.

"Oh, you bet! Especially when I told him that it was 'okay to jerk off on her books, they are here for that, after all'. He didn't like the implication, or my way of speaking."

Monica chuckled, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. "That's some bad vocabulary," she teased.

"Turns out, he actually liked her books, so when she stormed in the school when I told her, he could barely talk to her. She was cursing a lot, too. I think he figured out from where I knew all those bad words. I never even got that detention!"

They laughed it off, then calmed down as neither found a new question. After a while, Chandler settled for simply staring at Monica as she was thinking. She looked adorable with her brow furrowed, lost in her thoughts. He played with her hair, amazed by all the weight she had lost. Then he frowned. She hadn't stopped losing weight, and he was worried. She wasn't supposed to change for anyone, so he figured that she had other reasons, but she was already really great like this and kept on losing.

"I have a question," he said aloud, instead of just thinking it.

"What?"

It took him a couple of seconds to realize he hadn't just thought the sentence, and he chewed his lip. "Why are you losing so much weight?"

"I told you, it's for you."

"Come on, Mon'... Just... tell me?" he pouted, knowing she loved his face like this, and she giggled, looking away. It always worked.

He regretted pushing her to talk when she started to timidly admit that getting people to like her had been a small reason to lose weight, but her doctor warning her about all the health problems she could have had motivated her. After a long talk with her dad, she had realized that she didn't want to put her own life at risk just for a couple more cookies. She also didn't want to be an added weight on her father's shoulders – he hadn't commented on the choice of words, but her small smile had told him that she had done it on purpose.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she finally said, after a short silence in which Chandler was processing all the pieces of information. "I just wasn't sure... I don't know."

He smiled, kissing her hair. "What changed?" he asked, because he wasn't entirely sure what else to say about anything she had just confessed.

"What you said when we got together," she smiled, hiding her face in his shoulder. He ran his hand in her hair, finding her adorable. "It was so nice, and... And then all that time we're spending together, I didn't think I'd tell you, I didn't even think you'd notice, but now I really feel like I can tell you anything, without fearing it will make you want to run away."

Chandler stared at the back of her head until she finally lifted it to look at him, worried about his silence. He was just smiling broadly, moved by what she had said, and reassured that he hadn't been the only one thinking that revealing a secret would drift them apart. They had admitted embarrassing enough secrets to each other by now to realize that they wouldn't lose each other that easily.

"I'm glad you told me. And I'm sorry it got to that point."

He smiled again, his heart and stomach doing weird things he didn't want to name. As they looked at each other for some time and Monica opened her mouth to say something, the door opened, and they both cleared their throats.

"Oh, hey Monica," Bradley smiled at her, ignoring Chandler.

Chandler flinched, but didn't say anything, hiding his reaction.

Bradley hadn't stopped. He had slapped Chandler three more times, every time with a surprisingly good timing. Chandler had always been too shocked to react, except for the last time, when he had picked up a – verbal – fight with Bradley, only to be interrupted by her mom, who had naturally taken her fiancé's side. She just thought that her son wasn't accepting the fact that she was marrying someone else than his father. He didn't accept it, really, not only because Bradley was violent, but because he wasn't sure he wanted his mother to be married. He wasn't ready for more yelling, and he felt that all her relationships ended the same way. A ring wouldn't change it, certainly not this time.

Other than when they were alone – which Chandler avoided as much as possible – Bradley was being the perfect, caring boyfriend, and even step-father, in Nora's eyes. He had bought Chandler presents – as if it excused his slaps – and was extremely nice to Monica. Chandler really hated the latter. He didn't want that monster near his girlfriend, but he couldn't really do anything.

So he pretended. Because even Monica seemed to like the guy. He was just waiting to gather enough courage to warn his mother, but he was too afraid most of the times, and he didn't see her much. But the marriage was getting closer and closer, and Chandler knew that he had to say something before.

By the end of the dinner, he realized that he really couldn't take it anymore. Bradley was being too nice, too polite, too perfect, and everyone loved him but nobody realized what he was, just because he was such a great actor. Or had serious problems with his personality. So when Bradley escorted Monica back to her house – which Chandler vividly protested against, but again everybody just thought that he was being picky and mean to his mother – he decided to talk to his mom, alone.

They were sitting in an awkward silence in the living room, where Chandler had laughed with Monica some hours before. He was trying to find the right words, when he understood that there probably weren't any.

"Mom, I... I don't think you should get married," he sighed.

She rolled her eyes. "We've been over this-"

"I know, I know. It's not that I don't want you to find someone, to get married again but... Mom, Bradley is violent, and I..." he stopped, not really knowing what to add.

"Honey, Bradley is sweet. Well, unless I ask him not to, but that's only in bed..."

Chandler grunted, burying his face in his hands to block any mental images. "He's violent towards me," he admitted in a whisper. Hiding behind his hands made it easier.

"What? Are you saying he's beating you?!"

"No," Chandler said instantly. It wasn't really beating... was it? "No, but he... He slapped me, Mom. And I... I'm afraid he'll get violent with you too. I don't want him to hurt you."

"Oh, honey, that's sweet," Nora said, patting her son on his back.

"Huh?"

"You don't have to make up bad things about him. I swear to you, Bradley is adorable, he wouldn't hurt anyone, you don't have to worry about this."

"It's not- I'm not-" Chandler tried but couldn't finish his sentence. Had she just called him a liar? He hadn't expected her not to believe him. He had been afraid that it would hurt her to discover this about Bradley, and to have to call off the engagement.

Now he was stuttering, she thought he was lying – and being an overprotective son – and he felt stupid. The stupidest, if possible. Of course it was hard to believe. Bradley was just so nice, so damn perfect, he wouldn't hurt anyone, and nobody would believe the son, the one that hadn't shown any appreciation towards that new, perfect boyfriend – fiancé – since the beginning. He was still the rebellious teen, some could probably think he was still hoping his parents would get back together – he had heard some kids of divorced parents thought that, although he had never once hoped to see his parents together again – and just rejecting anyone who could potentially become a father figure.

He had been so stupid. And it hurt so much, to hear that your own mother didn't believe you, even on something as serious as this.

Before Chandler could form a complete sentence, Bradley was back from dropping off Monica, and he decided to run to his bedroom. And panic. What now? What could he do? Would Bradley still be violent? Of course he would, Chandler had thought he would stop after the first time, but he hadn't. And Chandler hadn't even responded badly to him the times after.

Was he being beaten up? Could slapping be counted as this?

He paced in his bedroom for a long time, wondering, getting angry and hitting things – well, his pillows. He eventually lay in his bed, his hands on his face as he thought about what to do. Who would believe him? He quickly gave up that train of thoughts. If his own mother didn't, nobody would. So he thought of ways to get rid of Bradley. How could he scare him off?

He didn't get far, as his bedroom's door opened and closed just when he was starting to think about what could make an adult want to run away from a relationship.

"Not now, Helen," he muttered, instantly thinking it was her, because nobody else ever entered his bedroom.

"Not Helen," a male voice answered, and Chandler straightened suddenly, backing off in his bed. "I had a little chat with your mother," Bradley said. "Very interesting."

"Wh-what do you want?"

Chandler had never realized what it was, to be truly afraid of someone. As he avoided Bradley's eyes but tried to put as much distance between them as possible, he thought that this was probably what being terrified felt like. He didn't like the feeling the slightest.

"I'm being nice." Chandler did his best not to scoff. He had stopped trying to use humor with Bradley a long time ago. "I'm trying to teach you things, even though you never listen, and I'm being nice enough to take your girlfriend home..." Chandler stood, backing away, against the wall, as Bradley kept talking. "You can't even accept my relationship with your mother. You're just a spoiled kid. You're bringing home some girl, and we both accept her even if..." he trailed off, laughing, but didn't end his sentence. "Why can't you do the same?"

Chandler clenched his fists. Hesitated. Opened his mouth to talk, closed it again. "Don't talk about Monica like this," he muttered almost inaudibly between his gritted teeth.

He wanted to defend his girlfriend, of course, but he still prayed that Bradley hadn't heard. He was just a big coward, wasn't he? Not that he had ever pretended to be anything but a coward.

"What, you don't like when I talk about your fat girlfriend?"

He wasn't brave, but apparently he could actually be blinded by rage. Who would have thought? "Don't call her fat!" he exploded, shoving Bradley out of his way, as he had walked closer to him as he spoke.

He was about to run out of his room, hopefully very far away from Bradley, but the man grabbed his wrist, pushing him back against the wall violently. Chandler's head bumped the wall, rather hard, and he winced. Time stopped right after Bradley balled his fist and punched Chandler on the temple.

Bradley was panting, probably from anger, the hand that hadn't just hit Chandler's face clasped on his t-shirt. It probably was the only reason Chandler didn't lose his balance for a moment.

He still wasn't reacting.

He saw Bradley shake his hand in pain. "Fuck," he muttered, and suddenly left.

Chandler still didn't react.

He slid against the wall and non-graciously on the floor, but didn't really know when he did. His head hurt like hell. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest. He wasn't sure what to do. He just stared at the ground, until his eyes started hurting too much too. He finally moved, to wipe his eyes, the dampness surprising him.

He couldn't think. It was as if his mind had shut off, and he was on automatic.

He knew he was moving now, but he didn't know what he was trying to do.

Chandler picked the phone of his room and dialed a number he never thought he would call intentionally, still acting without thinking.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hello?" a male voice Chandler didn't recognize said.

It helped him to snap back to reality, and he suddenly didn't know what to say. Or do. Should he just hang up? How much did the man talking know about him? Did he even know he existed?

"I-I'm Chandler," he stuttered.

"Oh you're _Chandler_! Wait a second, sweetheart."

Apparently he knew who he was. And he sounded so nice, Chandler almost wanted to ask him to talk to him. But he didn't want a stranger.

"Chandler? Is something wrong?"

He opened his mouth, but closed it. Yes, everything was just so wrong, his head still hurt, and he realized now that his body was shaking. But why would _he_ believe him? Why had he even called?

"I... I'm fine," he chose to answer.

"Are you sure, kiddo?"

_Kiddo_. He didn't like talking to his father, but he secretly loved this nickname, even if he was probably too old for this now. It almost felt as if he were still young. If he was young, it meant that Bradley wasn't here.

"Yeah... I was just... Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Sure!"

He could picture – and hear – how happy his father was. He had called. He never called.

Chandler had to find something to say, quickly. He couldn't think of any lie, so he settled for part of the truth.

"It's... Did mom tell you about her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, she bragged about him the last time I was there. I didn't quite catch his name. I do remember her mentioning that he was very good in bed, and apparently was well equipped."

"Dad..." Chandler sighed, but somehow it made him smile. "I was just wondering... I don't really like him... Do you think I'm awful for wanting him out of the picture?" he asked, playing with one of his pillows.

Before dialing – when he hadn't been entirely aware of what he was doing – he had curled up with his pillow on the ground. It had helped him calm himself. A direct contact to the ground had always helped him when he panicked.

"No, you're not," his father answered after a brief pause. "It's okay to dislike some people, and it's okay to want them out of your life, especially if you're going to see a lot of them daily."

It reassured Chandler a bit to hear that his father didn't think he was crazy. "Could you... help me get rid of him? I know it's a lot to ask but-"

"Are you kidding me?" Charles laughed. "You're asking me if I want to help you get rid of your mother's boyfriend? You had me at 'I don't like him', son. Let's get rid of that annoying guy!"

Chandler chuckled, hugging his pillow. "I like the sound of that," he whispered.

"Seriously Chandler, are you okay?" For a split second, he thought about being honest, but he heard muffled voices on the phone, then his father again. "I gotta go, I'm sorry..."

"I'm fine," Chandler said.

"Thank you for calling. I'll call you when I can so we can do some evil plans together. I love you, kiddo."

"Have a good show," he sighed, hanging up after. He knew a normal child would have probably answered the words back, but he wasn't really one to express his love to his parents. And he figured that acknowledging his father's drag show and wishing him to have a good one would mean a lot more to his father, without Chandler having to actually say that he loved him. It was perfect for both of them.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he had called him, though. He was his father, yes, but he hadn't acted much like one for a long time. When he had finally tried, Chandler had been the one to push the whole thing – push _him_ – away. He hadn't thought that he would want to willingly see his father one day, but he suddenly missed his presence. The idea of him arguing with his ex-wife was much more appealing than even a second in the same room as Bradley.

Chandler had never really needed his father before – when he was much younger, of course he had, but he had grown accustomed to the fact that he didn't really have one to play games or have good memories with – but now that Bradley was very much in the picture, about to become his official step-father, Chandler wished for his biological father to be here. He wasn't quite ready to forgive him yet – for running away with that house boy – but he considered giving him a second chance, which he had never done before.

Charles Bing called later to offer different ways for Chandler to convince Bradley to leave, or his mother to leave Bradley. He refuted most of them but liked some. His father sounded worried, but Chandler had had time to rest – he had fallen asleep on his floor – and was now more or less sure of what he wanted to do. Or what he didn't want to do, at least. He couldn't tell another adult, because he was too scared of being laughed at, he was too scared of people thinking he was being silly, jealous or joking again, just because he usually was. He probably had only himself to blame. He had used humor for too long now, and people just assumed he was always joking, even on something as serious as this.

Chandler wasn't sure he could tell anyone else. If he couldn't tell an adult, he couldn't picture himself talking to someone younger about it. Who would he even talk to? Monica? He was way too afraid that she would try to change the situation – and she would – and that Bradley would hurt her too – and he probably would, too. No, he was alone in this.

It couldn't be that hard to make Bradley want to run away. Or his mother to break up with him. At least, he hoped.


	10. Chapter 10

Sadly, things rarely went as planned.

Chandler had tried to convince his mother that Bradley was married and had hidden kids, but she had laughed it off, and Brian had almost hit Chandler again for that one. Helen had interrupted their conversation and Chandler had never been more thankful to see her.

The next day, Bradley had convinced Nora to fire her for being a bad influence on Chandler as he was supposed to leave for College the year after, which meant he would need to be independent, and having someone doing all the chores in the house wouldn't help him.

Chandler indirectly responded to Bradley by having Monica over even more often than before. The cleaning part wasn't wanted, but Monica was being more and more obsessive about cleaning. Chandler first found it cute, then he had to admit it was becoming annoying. When he understood that she hadn't suddenly become obsessed with cleaning, but had moved her obsession with eating to cleaning, he stopped thinking it was bad. She was doing her best, and he admired her for losing so much weight in so little time. He could understand that she needed to replace eating with something else. Cleaning was pretty harmless in the list of things she could have become obsessed with.

And who was he to judge the habit of cleaning when he was smoking more and more? His smoking habits were linked to how much he saw of Bradley's face in the day. It was increasing more and more as days passed.

Chandler changed his strategy after getting Helen fired – he tried to track her down to apologize, but he wasn't entirely sure of what to say, and Bradley had made sure that he wouldn't be able to find her again – because he didn't want anyone else to be hurt. Himself and Helen were enough.

He tried telling his mom that he wouldn't visit from College if Bradley was here, but she dismissed it again by simply answering that she would be the one visiting him, probably while she was on book tours.

He called his father a couple more times while he was trying to break his mother and Bradley up – sometimes, he hated himself for wanting this, but never as much as he hated Bradley, so he never stopped – and each time, Charles tried to talk to his son about something else than Bradley, but Chandler would always shut down. Each new phone call was getting longer compared to the last, though.

Chandler sighed as he changed the TV channel every other second, waiting for his mother to be home. Monica would be here soon, but he still wanted to try something before she came.

Finally, Nora opened the front-door and Chandler ran to it, helping her with her coat.

"Okay, okay, I know we've had this conversation a million times," Chandler started, and she rolled her eyes, already knowing he would try to convince her to break up with Bradley. "_But_, and I want you to really think about it, are you really sure you're ready to spend your time only with him? I mean, think about it, you've had trouble having one partner _at the same time_ in the past already, do you really want to keep only one partner for the rest of your life?"

She actually seemed to consider it more than she had ever thought about anything he had said on Bradley before.

She still laughed, in the end. "Sweetheart, I'm not some horny teenager anymore."

"Mom, I've been the horny teenager in the house, but you still needed more sex than I ever did." As much as he didn't want to think about it, it was true. Disturbing, but true. Disgusting to talk about with his mom, but still true. He had way too much knowledge of her sex life.

"Okay, I'll give you that one. But I'm still marrying him."

"Come on! You cheated on Dad at your _wedding_!"

"Chandler," she smiled, "We were young and I found out I was pregnant, so we got married. Neither of us wanted this, and we both knew how it would end. But it was the thing society wanted us to do. I chose to marry Bradley, and he's lovely. I haven't cheated on him...ish..."

"Ah! You cheated on him! What would he think of that?!"

"We weren't really involved... Oh and there was that threesome, but that's not cheating. I mean, he was in it, so that's definitely not cheating."

Chandler made noises to stop her, not wanting to know more than he already knew about her sex life. "But won't you get bored?"

Nora didn't answer, thinking. She took a deep breath, staring right into Chandler's eyes. "Okay, answer honestly. Do you want someone else than Monica?"

"What? No!"

"Do you mind that she's the only girl in your love and sex life?"

"Of course not!" Chandler instantly answered, not even trying to explain to his mother that he was still a virgin. Then, he got her point. "Oh. You really love him..."

"I'm afraid I do." She patted his knee. "Can you please stop trying to find ways of breaking us up? It's getting a bit ridiculous sometimes."

"Yeah," he shrugged.

She didn't stay much longer, and he was glad she left.

His energy from the previous weeks turned into exhaustion as he realized that his mother was happy and in love. He couldn't take that away from her.

* * *

When Monica arrived, not long after, he held her closely. Then she pushed him, and cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze.

"What's happening?" he tried to ask without letting his panic show, but it did anyway.

"Chandler, there's something..."

"Oh God no," he whispered, stiffening. She wasn't going to break up with him, was she? She couldn't. He needed her.

"It's okay," she quickly said, taking his hands to drag him to the couch. He sat reluctantly, refusing to let go of her hands. "It's just... I have to tell you something, but please don't be mad..."

He swallowed and nodded, because apparently his mouth couldn't function even for one word. This was it, she was going to leave him the same way everyone did. He had acted too weirdly lately, he had hidden things from her and she had noticed and now wanted to stop seeing him.

"I'm not, er, ready..." she said, and he frowned.

"Ready for what?" To be with him?

"For... You know..." He shook his head. No, he didn't know! "For sex," she muttered in a way he almost couldn't hear her.

"What?" was his only answer, the final 't' sound not even making it out of his mouth. He looked stupid.

"I'm not comfortable with having sex," she said, more clearly this time.

He blinked a few times, unsure of what to say, then decided to speak his mind. "Where is this coming from?"

She hesitated, but finally looked down, chewing her lip. "I saw the condom in your wallet." His what now? "But I don't want to... have sex as long as I don't feel comfortable enough with my body."

"Hey," he smiled when he understood the problem. He cupped her face so she would look at him. "I don't want to have sex with you." At her frown, he realized it really didn't sound as good as he had thought it would. "I mean, of course I want to have sex with you! Not that we should! But I want! But, like, not... Oh God."

He put his hands on his face, then took a deep breath to clear his mind. When he looked at Monica again, she seemed to be smiling. He took her hands again, looking straight into her eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't say no to sex with you. But I don't expect you- I don't expect _us_ to be having sex."

She blushed and smiled sheepishly. "But you have a condom..."

He sighed, letting his head fall on his chest. "Okay, please don't judge me... When I told my mom you were my friend, she instantly gave me a condom. I wasn't even thinking about being with you... Scratch that, I had a crush on you, but I never expected anything from you concerning this. I'm not keeping it to use. I'm serious, I don't want to think of my mom the first time I have sex because she gave me that stupid condom."

"Really?" Monica asked, now smiling happily.

"Really," he nodded, kissing her cheek. "I love you, Mon', I'm not going to force you into doing something you're not comfortable with."

There was a silence as both processed what Chandler had just said. "What did you just say?" Monica finally asked.

"N-nothing. I... I-I just want you to feel comfortable." He was panicking. He needed to get out of this situation in some way. Had he really just said that he loved her?

"You said you loved me!" Oh, yeah he had. And she had totally heard.

"No I didn't!" he poorly tried to defend himself.

"It's okay," Monica smiled. "I... I love you, Chandler."

He hadn't known if Monica felt the same way he did, but he suddenly wasn't sure how to breathe. His heart seemed to implode inside his chest, and he was overwhelmed by the certitude that someone loved him. He had never felt that way.

"You do?" he finally asked, as if not wanting to believe that it was possible for him to feel like this.

"After what you've said? Even more so."

They smiled at each other, both so stupidly happy and trying to get accustomed to the fact that the other felt the same way they did.

Chandler's mother had been right, he was in love with Monica, and he wouldn't want anyone else than her.


	11. Chapter 11

The phone rang for less than a couple of seconds before the man picked it up. He had told himself not to be hoping for a phone call, but he had hoped.

"Hey kiddo!" Charles over-enthusiastically said. He hadn't been as happy as he had let it on about ruining Nora's wedding plans – he didn't love her and they always argued, but he didn't wish her unhappiness, especially not when he was himself in a steady relationship – but he was more than happy to help his son. Or just to talk to him. He missed him so much.

"Dad, I..."

Something was wrong. Charles didn't know Chandler as much as he would like to, but he could tell that something was bothering him. He still hadn't been able to guess exactly why he wanted to get rid of that Bradley guy, and it bothered him a bit. Chandler was a good kid – way better than how he could have turned out with the parents he had – and he didn't want his son to be sad. If he didn't think Bradley was good for Nora, Charles believed him. She didn't seem to think the same.

He waited for Chandler to talk, knowing he would probably just hang up if his father insisted. "Thank you for your help, but I think I'll stop."

"Okay." He knew better than to disagree with Chandler, too. "Has something come up? Oh God, she's not pregnant, isn't she?"

"What?!" Chandler's panicked voice instantly said. "No! I hope not!" Charles regretted putting that idea in his son's mind, but it seemed like the best reason to stop jeopardizing Nora's relationship. "I just... I just think I'm doing something bad, and I don't want to be that guy."

"Kiddo, I don't know why you want him out of the picture, but I trust your decision. If you think he's bad for your mother, you're not doing something bad."

"But it feels bad!" Chandler snapped, then sighed. "She's just so happy, and I don't want her to be miserable because I hate Bradley. I'll just avoid him. It's not like I saw mom a lot anyway. So what? In a few months I'll be away in College. You left and I survived, I can deal with mom dating some asshole."

Charles stayed silent for a while. As right as Chandler's words were, it hurt to hear his own son vehemently remind him that he had abandoned his family. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I understand. Hey, I was wondering... Can I come see you? I'm not far."

"Did you come just to see me?" Not a no yet, there was progress compared to before.

"No, I have some things to do here, but I hoped you'd agree on meeting me."

There was a long pause, and Chandler eventually sighed. "Maybe, I don't know."

"Look, I'll be waiting for you tomorrow, and if you want to come, come. I'll wait for you. But if you don't come, that's fine."

When Chandler agreed, Charles didn't even try to hide his joy as they tried to come up with a place where they could meet the day after.

The conversation didn't last for much longer and Chandler hung up without answering to his father's "I love you." He didn't mind – well, of course he did, but he understood – but deeply hoped that it would change.

He knew he had messed up big time. He had realized way too late what being a father was supposed to mean, and by that time, Chandler was already a teenager. He had tried for years to establish contact – he couldn't even call it build back trust, because they had never been proper father-son before – but had never succeeded. Chandler was already too old, and in the middle of being a rebellious teen. Not that he'd had much to rebel against. Charles knew that Nora didn't have a much more developed relationship with their son. She wasn't home a lot, and they had both lost his whole childhood anyway, too busy fighting each other to take care of an unwanted kid.

Nora had been his last girlfriend, and of course she had been pregnant before long, just when they were talking about ending things. She was a lovely woman, very beautiful and a good person, especially once you knew her. But she was a woman, so it hadn't worked. At the time, he hadn't been entirely sure of what was different about him, and when they'd found out that Nora was pregnant, they'd gotten married really quickly, without even thinking about not doing it. Charles' family was deeply catholic, and he wasn't about to piss off his scary father – later on, he realized that he'd always be a disappointment to his parents because he would never suddenly turn straight. It had worked for a couple of years, until Charles had understood everything. He was gay, and no matter how hard they tried, it would never work out.

Nora had told him that she had known for a while. That was when they had started to really fight a lot, about anything. They'd stayed married, though. Then they'd started to have threesomes or orgies, still together, then slowly got their own partners. They'd only started to consider divorce when Charles' father had died. They had filed it when his mother had passed away, not long after. But never once had they considered Chandler's feelings in the divorce. They hadn't been happy, and it wouldn't work. Charles had introduced a boyfriend in the frame, and he'd wanted to be with him more openly. He had tried to stay around after the divorce, but Las Vegas had been too great an opportunity to miss it, and he hadn't even thought about it twice. For him – and even Nora – he hadn't been abandoning a son.

She had been happy about him moving away, although she already traveled so much she was barely home anyway. Chandler had never said anything, being a silent and shy kid – at least with them. He wasn't sure how he had been as a kid, with other kids. He really had missed his job as a father, and he knew his son wouldn't forgive him for that. He hoped he had forgiven Nora, at least, but he wasn't even sure. They both were terrible parents.

Charles just wanted his son to talk to him. He was ready to be a father, even eighteen years too late.

The next day, Chandler didn't show up at the given hour, but Charles waited. He could wait a couple of hours. It paid off, as Chandler finally arrived on his bike. He was coming fast in his direction and only stopped at the last second, as if suddenly realizing that he had actually arrived. He looked distressed, looking around him, and he was bleeding.

"What happened?!" Charles instantly asked, reaching up to his face.

Chandler flinched away, putting his own hand on his lip and wincing at the contact, then the blood on his fingers. "Sorry, I ran into a tree. I was late and didn't really look."

He seemed to be hurt at his eye, his lips and his jaw, and Charles chewed the inside of his mouth. "You should be careful on this," he smiled.

"Yeah, sorry," Chandler shrugged. "You want to walk?"

Charles nodded eagerly, walking with his hands in his pockets as he wasn't sure what to do or say. Maybe he hadn't really expected his son to show up, so he really was unprepared. Or he was just really bad at talking with him. Eventually, after ringing the bell on his bike a couple of times to fill in the awkward silence, Chandler asked him a summary of what his father had been up to since he had left.

Charles knew he was asking about the moment he had left his ex-wife and his son behind, and not the last time he had visited, so he started talking, trying to keep it light. He joked a bit, tried to avoid any mention of his numerous boyfriends, not sure that Chandler was entirely comfortable with it. He beamed when his son smiled a few times.

He told him that the show he had starred in had worked so well that before long, he had been able to open his own show and had since done a lot of them. He told him about a couple of his holidays away in foreign countries, hoping that what he described sounded as beautiful as what he had experienced. He was living a good life, and he wanted Chandler to be in it.

Chandler nodded at that, looking down. He then asked him about his current boyfriend, and Charles had trouble preventing himself from rambling about Scott. He had met him during one of his shows. He had come with a date the first time, then had kept on coming back alone, until he had gathered enough courage to go talk to him, thanks to a mutual friend.

"I'm just happy he's here."

Chandler smiled. "You look good. When you're happy, I mean."

Charles grinned. He would have hugged him, if he weren't so afraid that he would push him away. He settled for watching his son walking next to his bike, looking at the front wheel. Even with bruises on his face, he thought that he looked truly handsome. He was tall and lean, and any flaws that someone picky could spot were compensated by his blue eyes. They weren't that atypical in their colors, but Charles had trouble looking away from them. They looked like Chandler had been through a lot, but they were laughing eyes, going well with his smile and the jokes he liked to tell – Charles had noticed they had pretty much the same humor. The contrast was mesmerizing. He was maybe biased because Chandler was his son, but he really didn't look bad.

"What about you?" Charles finally asked, curious about his life as well. "Do you have as much success as your mother?"

"God, no," Chandler chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not a popular kid. But I have a girlfriend," he added sheepishly, obviously trying to hide a smile.

His eyes shone as he started to talk about Monica, apparently a very beautiful friend he'd made until they had been more than friends. He looked adorable and incredibly proud of her. Not of _having _her, but of her. The way he talked about her made his father realize that no matter how little – bad – education he had received from his parents, he had turned out to be a genuinely good person. He wasn't telling him about how sexy Monica looked, or how well she kissed, or whatever kids focused on these days. Instead, he was simply sharing how much he loved her laugh, even more so when he was the one to make her laugh, how much he enjoyed seeing her happy, how proud he was of everything she was doing, how strong she was mentally... She made him feel really good, and Charles was glad that he had found someone like this, and hoped that it would last.

Chandler was now more happily talking, the conversation way less awkward. They both joked a bit as they walked around the streets, until they sat in a park, Chandler putting his bike at his feet. Charles learned more about his son in the couple of hours they spent together than he had in his entire life. He was already so old, talking as an adult, but still with the mind of someone young.

After a while, Chandler was in the middle of a story about an impressive movement he had done while playing tennis, and rolled up his sleeves to mime the action as best as he could. Charles' eyes instantly caught the huge bruise on his arms, clearly made by the hand of someone. If he had said nothing at the marks on his face – he didn't really believe that he would have hit a tree – he couldn't just sit and say nothing, although it probably wasn't his business.

"Chandler, what's that?" he asked right after the story was over.

Chandler looked down, at his arms, and visibly paled, covering his upper arms quickly.


	12. Chapter 12

Initially, Chandler had decided to stay at home. He had given up on trying to make Bradley leave, because his mother was genuinely happy, and he didn't see any reasons to go see his father. It wasn't because he had helped him once that he had forgiven him for the past eighteen years. Chandler knew he wasn't being entirely fair to his father, but he wasn't interested in knowing what he could have had, had his father realized sooner that he had a son. It hurt too much to have a glimpse of what he could have shared with a loving father, and he was afraid of that. He'd had years to grow used to the fact that he didn't have a father – not much of a mother, either – and he just feared that by letting Charles enter his life, he would lose him again. He feared that his habit of not having a father would fade and he would get used to having one, only for him to go away again when he realized who his son was. He wasn't a popular kid, he didn't have much, he wasn't good in any team sports – not enough to be in a school team anyway, not that anyone wanted him to be in one – and he didn't help his neighborhood or some other thing a "good" kid was expected to do.

Maybe he was afraid that his father would leave because of who he was. He wasn't willing to let him in, anyway. He had never let his mother in, either. He was just living with her, but she wasn't invested in his school life – she had probably gone twice to his high school, and never for parents-teachers meeting – and she didn't know a lot about him. They talked, they spent some good time together, but more because he lived in her house than because he wanted a real relationship with his mother.

When he had talked to Monica about it the very day he was supposed to meet with his father, she made him think about it. Perhaps he needed his father, even many years too late. She mentioned how Bradley's presence seemed to bother him and concluded that maybe it was because he suddenly longed for a contact with a father; his own biological father, not Bradley. He almost told her it certainly wasn't the reason why he didn't like Bradley, but maybe she wasn't completely wrong. He had been the one to call his father, after all.

She almost convinced him to go see him, and he said he'd think about it. When she left, not long before the hour he was supposed to meet with Charles, he eventually decided not to go. It was too soon. He told himself that he'd call him later and they would maybe meet another day.

Except that Bradley was here, but his mother wasn't home, and he was pretty pissed about something. Not that Chandler tried to talk about it. He was more than willing to go into his bedroom and not go out until he really had to, but Bradley wanted to take it out on someone.

Chandler tried to quietly disappear. It never worked. Bradley was furious, hitting as blindly as he had the previous time. He got Chandler on the stomach, the jaw, and near his eye before Chandler finally managed to push him away, running upstairs. Bradley ran after him, but Chandler knew the house way better than him and managed to run back downstairs and out by the front-door, taking his bike almost as a reflex, while Bradley barged into his bedroom

Monica was probably right, Bradley was the element that pushed him towards his father, and he soon started to change his random direction to where he was supposed to meet with his father, hoping he would still be here.

Saying that he had bumped into a tree sounded like a good idea – the previous time, he had pretended to have run into a door and it had worked well – and Charles bought it, but as he got more and more at ease with his father – which hadn't happened a lot in his lifetime – he forgot about Bradley.

He didn't realize he had the mark of his hand on his arm, spotting it only when Charles asked him about it. His mind raced as he tried to come up with an excuse.

"Chandler," Charles eventually said as neither had spoken since his question. "Who did that to you?"

A guy from school. Some mugger in the streets. Anyone. Not Bradley.

Chandler tried to talk, but it came out as noises, barely words. He looked down. He needed to lie, to blame it on someone else, to pretend that everything was fine. "Bradley," he whispered instead.

Somehow, he suddenly couldn't lie to his father. He was so tired of everything related to that man, and Charles emitted a reassuring feeling of trust. Chandler felt like he could tell him the truth, and he wouldn't be laughed at. Was it what it felt like, to have a father?

Charles didn't laugh. He didn't move a lot for a long moment, actually. He clenched his jaw, that Chandler could tell. He could also see his face reddening gradually, and his knuckles whitening.

His father finally cleared his throat. "Is he home?" he asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

Chandler nodded, jumping when Charles got on his feet and started to walk, almost run, away. "Dad!" he called, but it was useless so he took his bike, wincing as he got on it and his stomach hurt where Bradley had punched him.

He considered saying something, anything, as he feared what would happen, but finally just waved at his father to get on his bike. Charles looked skeptical but his expression softened and he smiled, climbing behind Chandler. He was used to riding his bike with Monica – they liked to make short trips like this – so he explained quickly how his father should place himself, and he guided them to the house.

He wasn't entirely sure of what he was doing, wasn't even sure he should allow it to happen, but he hoped that his father could do something. He didn't even want Bradley out of his life anymore, he just wanted him to stop getting his anger out on him. He really wished that he wouldn't – and had never – hurt his mother.

As Charles stormed into the house, Chandler hesitated outside. He chewed his lip, checking if his mother's car was in the driveway – it wasn't – and put his bike down, following his father inside.

"What's with all the noise?!" Bradley's voice quickly said from upstairs. Before long, he arrived in the living-room, where father and son stood in silence. Bradley snorted. "I don't remember inviting a fag. Since when are you talking to your so-called father?"

Chandler stepped away instinctively as Bradley grinned, walking to them, his eyes on Chandler. He felt like the prey of a dangerous animal. Charles stepped in front of his son, forcing Bradley to step back, and even pushed him slightly.

"Don't come near him."

Bradley's attention finally turned entirely to Charles, and he smiled. "Trying to finally be a father?"

"I don't care what you think or say about me, you don't lay your hand on my son."

"Your son?" Bradley scoffed. "I know him better than you do!"

"And in what world does it give you the right to beat him up?"

Bradley looked confused for a second, as if hitting Chandler had never come up as wrong in his mind.

Chandler quietly walked to a corner of the room as Bradley responded, Charles answered back, Bradley got angry... They were arguing, and it usually was Chandler's cue to leave the room. Except that he couldn't really move, his legs jelly-like, and he was afraid that one was going to start hitting the other. He really wasn't worth all this, he just wished they would both stop.

He jumped and whimpered when Bradley tried to slap Charles, but Charles caught his wrist. He let him go quickly, but Chandler spotted Nora witnessing her ex-husband with her fiancé's wrist in his hand. He tried to say something, but she quickly walked to the two men.

"What's going on here?!"

"He came here uninvited!"

"What are you doing here?" Nora asked to Charles, instantly siding with Bradley.

"I'm here for our son," Charles said, trying to stay calm. "To protect him from that monster."

She glared at him, then flailed her arms. "I don't understand you! Are you trying to win father points by ruining another marriage?"

"I don't care about your stupid marriage!"

They kept talking, arguing, and Chandler wasn't sure he could take it for a lot longer. He tried to melt and become one with the wall, the corner somehow more reassuring than any other place in the room. Maybe he could disappear if he stayed silent. He hoped he would.

His attention got back to the conversation as Charles yelled surprisingly loudly. Chandler wasn't sure he had ever seen him so angry, and so invested into proving a point.

"Just fucking look at your son! _Look_ at him!"

Everyone did. Three pairs of eyes scanning him as he wished he was dead. He didn't know what to do, apart from hugging himself and looking at the floor, as if it would protect him. It didn't really work. He felt studied and he hated the feeling. He wasn't sure either of his parents had ever looked at him that intensively.

Then Nora slowly turned to Bradley, stepping closer to Charles who had crossed his arms. "Have you ever laid your hand on my son?"

"I've never-" he stuttered, then took a deep breath. "I never did anything else than try to teach him some manners."

Nora gasped, putting a hand on her heart. Charles put a hand on the small of her back, slightly pushing her towards the other man.

Chandler whimpered and grimaced when his mother rose her hand in the air. She stopped her movement, glancing at her son. Instead of slapping Bradley, she took his wrist and dragged him away for more privacy.

He just stared after them, nervously running a hand through his hair. He glanced at his father, but quickly looked away. What had he done? His mother knew the truth, and she would probably leave Bradley, barely weeks away from their marriage. He hadn't wanted this, but he was reassured. He wouldn't have to worry about bumping into the guy, and he especially wouldn't have to constantly wonder whether or not Bradley was beating up his mother. Although, she probably wouldn't let that happen to herself.

"Chandler..."

He shook his head at his father, and walked past him, going straight to his bedroom, still overwhelmed by everything that had happened. He wasn't ready to face any of his parents yet. To look into their suddenly gentle eyes. He didn't want to answer their questions, if they had any.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hey guys, I am so deeply sorry for not updating this story any sooner. It's been completely written for more than a year, so I don't have any excuse, I needed some time off I think. Thank you for your support, it's soon the end of this story, only one chapter left to close Chandler's plot ;)_

* * *

Chandler was left alone for the night. For the first time, he heard his parents talking. No yelling. They didn't seem to be willing to put him through them arguing, for once. They'd probably argue about that later, but he was glad not to have to deal with blocking their voices away. He could barely hear them talking, and he fell asleep from exhaustion.

He woke up because of pain. His nightmare was a mix of childhood nightmares – screaming, loneliness, the feeling of being nothing for his parents, self-loathing – and current problems – the whole Bradley thing, fear, and for some reason Monica turning her back on him. His face was also still hurting, and it helped waking him up quicker than he would normally do. He was grateful for it, in a way, because he had gotten out of his nightmare.

He was past the bed-wetting age – although it had lasted awfully long for him – but he was still a sweating mess when he had a nightmare. He sighed and sat on his bed, taking his shirt off and throwing it to a corner of the room. He was still conflicted about what had happened the previous day. He was relieved that Bradley was gone – or so he hoped – but he couldn't help feeling guilty for having ruined his mother's good relationship with him. She had been so happy...

The subject of his thoughts knocked on his door, and he didn't answer. It was how they told each other that they could enter. When the other actually knocked, because they often just barged in the room they wanted to get to. Chandler wondered if she was going to change her whole behavior towards him because of what had happened. He hoped not. If he hated something more than the other kids' reactions when they had learned that Chandler's parents were divorced, it was the immediate sympathy – pity, really – painted on adults' faces when they learned. He just hated pity.

Nora entered, smiling softly. "I thought I heard you."

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said, massaging his neck – unless he was just uncomfortable. Probably both.

She slowly walked to his bed, sitting next to him, and studying his face and bare chest. He wished he hadn't discarded his shirt only minutes earlier. He wasn't extremely prude but he knew where his mother's current attention was, and he wasn't comfortable with it. She didn't seem to notice.

Nora shook her head, looking away, at the wall. Chandler knew it was going to be one of those rare moments when she would be serious and probably the closest to what a mom should be. He had no comparison for that, however.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart..." she eventually said, staring at the wall.

"Do you think I can pretend I got into a fight and won?" Chandler smiled. He wasn't much better at the whole serious-conversations thing.

Nora smiled, but it quickly disappeared. She looked at her son, regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

He opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid – that was just who he was – but realized that he really shouldn't, for once. Instead, he nodded, "I know."

She looked away again, probably finding it easier to talk to the wall than to Chandler. He understood that. "I really thought he was a good man. I should have listened to you the first time. I know you wouldn't lie about that, but I just thought..."

"It's okay. I'm sorry it brought me closer to Dad, I know that wasn't your intention," he nudged her. No, he really couldn't keep on being serious for more than a couple of seconds, apparently.

She chuckled, turning to him to kiss his hair. "I'm glad at least something good came out of this."

He blinked a few times, shocked by the display of affection, then frowned. "You're not mad about this, are you?"

"That you're spending some time with your father? I can't say I like the man, but he's your father. And who am I to say something about who you talk to?"

"My mother?" he offered, smiling.

This time, she laughed.

An awkward silence followed the lighter moment, and Chandler played with his hands, wishing to be alone now. But he knew Nora still had at least one thing to ask.

She seemed to be struggling with the question, but she finally heavily sighed. "Are we good?"

Chandler already knew the answer, but took his time to think. He had never blamed her for what Bradley did, or even for not believing him. He had blamed himself, as he often did. It was either him or his parents – or the people they were involved with, actually – but never once, in the period of time he had known Bradley, had he blamed his mother for anything. He wondered if he should have, but he knew he couldn't. Not for this. It really wasn't her fault. If anyone – other than himself – he should blame and hate Bradley, not her.

Noticing that a silence wasn't a good way to answer this time, he quickly nodded. "Yeah. Yes, we're good."

She let out the breath she had been holding onto, and got on her feet. "Your father's still here, by the way. He wanted to know if he should go, or if you'd come downstairs at some point."

"I'll be down in a moment. I need a few minutes, and a good shower."

"That, you do," she winked at him.

"Hey! I do not stink!"

"Your words, not mine," she grinned. He rolled his eyes, pouting, and she chuckled. Then she ruffled his hair, and Chandler froze, his eyes wide. "You're a good kid, Chandler. I'm glad you turned out okay. I'm proud of you."

He didn't move, and she left. Proud? His mother was proud?

He had never waited for his mother's approval or pride, or anything from his parents, really, probably because he hadn't realized what making someone proud meant. He guessed that his parents were proud of him, but he'd never expected any of them to tell him. It didn't even really sound right to his ear.

He shook his head, standing to go take a shower, trying not to think about anything. The water helped, although it burned his face, and he spent too much time in it. When he remembered that his father probably still was there, he quickly put on a shirt and pants, going downstairs while still rubbing his wet hair with his towel.

"You know, I'm sure I could find you make-up to hide this," Charles joked, referring to Chandler's bruised face. He could definitely get on board with Charles joking about it already. "I have to get back to Vegas, but I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," Chandler nodded. They stood silently for a moment, Chandler still with his towel, although it was more to fill the silence than because his hair was wet. Eventually, he stopped and folded the towel, a bit too many times. "Is... Are they still together?"

"Are you kidding? She showed him the door. You won't be seeing him around. And if you do, tell one of us."

"Wow, you and mom agreed on something?" Chandler chose to say, signaling that he didn't want the conversation to be about Bradley.

"I should probably leave," Charles said after another silence. They weren't there yet. Chandler nodded. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah... Er... You know, if Scott ever wants to come here, it's fine by me. I mean, mom probably won't like it but... I don't mind."

"When did I ever listen to your mom?" Charles grinned, but Chandler could see that his words meant a lot to him. And he really didn't mind. Maybe he'd like Scott. Maybe he wouldn't, but that was fine too. His father really seemed to be happy with him, at least.

Chandler picked the phone when it rang, gesturing to his father to wait. He hadn't expected Monica to be calling, and her voice instantly made him smile.

"Hey Chandler! So, did you go see him?"

"Hi Mon'. Yeah, I did."

"I'll leave you kids alone," Charles smiled sweetly, patting Chandler on the shoulder.

He acknowledged him, but concentrated on his conversation with Monica. He watched his father walk away, and chewed his bottom lip. "Can I call you back? Just a couple of minutes," he said to Monica, hanging up before he had an actual answer.

He ran out of the house quickly, calling after his father. Charles turned, indicated to his taxi driver to wait for him, and took a few steps towards Chandler, who was trying to catch his breath – his body didn't agree with the sudden physical effort.

"Thank you," Chandler said with all the honesty he could.

He wasn't sure he had seen such a smile on his father's face before, but he sure looked moved by what he had just said. "Anytime, kiddo," Charles finally said, stretching his hand for Chandler to shake it.

He smiled, nodding in appreciation that Chandler didn't offer a hug yet, and shook his hand. "Drive safe."

"You know I'm not driving," Charles grinned as he turned back again. He waved at him from behind the taxi's window, and Chandler responded, then sighed, walking back to his house with his hands in his pockets.

Nora was probably out of the house, working, as he hadn't heard anything since she had left his bedroom, so he picked up the phone and dialed Monica's number, as promised.


	14. Chapter 14

The cigarette felt shorter than usual as Chandler was smoking more frantically. He was in a hurry, because Monica would soon be here, and she didn't like him smoking. He knew that, but he had been waiting, and when he waited, he smoked. Maybe he had wanted to smoke, too, because surely he didn't need to arrive that early.

He tried scratching the itchy skin around his hurting eye, but winced at the pain. He probably should have done something to hide it a bit. But he could be clumsy, he was sure that Monica wouldn't guess what had really happened. He didn't want to tell her about Bradley, it was something that only concerned him and his parents and he didn't feel like admitting to anyone else what had happened. He was ashamed, and he wasn't ready to face the facts just yet. He didn't want Monica to feel bad for not having noticed, too, when he had been hiding it so hard.

When he had called her back, after his father was gone, Monica had asked if they could see each other. He had agreed, but as minutes passed, he kept wondering why she wanted to see him. She hadn't sounded too serious, or about to say something heartbreaking to him, but she had sounded a little annoyed.

He took a mint for his breath, then another one, and a chewing-gum, hoping that Monica wouldn't mind the smell too much.

He frowned when he saw her coming, but that she wasn't alone. He threw his chewing-gum in a garbage as he was walking toward her, and kissed her as a greeting. She didn't respond and pulled back. "What happened?" she asked, taking his head in her hands to examine his face.

"I, er, was late to see my father, so I was going a bit too fast on my bike..."

"You should be more careful on that thing!" Monica scolded him, but kissed his cheek to show that she wasn't pissed at him, just worried.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

At least, she didn't say anything about the fact that he probably smelled like smoke.

"Chandler, this is Ross, you remember him," she finally said when her brother cleared his throat. "He's visiting for the weekend."

"Sure," Chandler nodded, extending his hand and smiling.

Ross studied him as he ignored his hand, disapproval written all over his face. "So, _you_'re with my sister..."

"Ross, you said you wouldn't do that," Monica rolled her eyes.

"You better not hurt her," Ross still said, ignoring his sister.

Chandler wanted to laugh, but didn't, simply smiling. "Right. Nice seeing you again, too."

"Sorry, I just don't want anything to happen to my sister."

"Can't say I get the feeling," Chandler tried to joke, but Ross didn't seem to be in the mood to laugh. "Okay... So, why are you here?"

"Ross, cut it," Monica said as Ross didn't answer. "I'm babysitting him so my parents can throw a surprise party to him."

"Clearly, someone does not understand the meaning of a surprise party," Ross instantly said.

"I know! Mom and dad are the worst when it comes to surprises."

Chandler enjoyed the exchange between the two siblings. He put his hands in his pockets, waiting for them to be over with their pretended argument.

He knew that Monica had never really liked her brother when they were living together, but now that he was away in College, she appreciated their time together a bit more. Her mother didn't seem to be acknowledging her efforts and achievements any more than before, but at least Ross was bragging less than before. He had always been rather proud of making his mother happy just by sneezing – without realizing that Monica wasn't too happy about constantly being pulled down by her own mother – but now it often came as embarrassing when she mentioned some things of his childhood that she was still proud of.

"Anyway," Monica said after a while, probably noticing that she and Ross could go on for a long time, but that Chandler wasn't really in the conversation. "How did it go with your father?"

"Good, good. It was a bit awkward, but he left earlier, and we'll be in touch, at least. Oh, and my mother broke the engagement off!" he smiled.

"Oh, you must be happy!" Chandler nodded at Monica's enthusiasm for him. She had never quite put her finger on the reason why he hated the guy, but she had come to trust his judgment, and she was happy for him. He had really been bothered by Bradley, so she hoped he would feel better.

"Your parents got together again?" Ross asked, trying to keep up.

"Yeah, it worked so well the first time that they thought they'd keep getting together and breaking up," Chandler answered, very seriously.

Ross nodded, then glared at his sister when she burst out laughing. "What?"

"I'm kidding, my mother was engaged to someone I didn't like much. I'm just glad he's gone."

"Well, the other possibility was possible! Stop laughing at me," Ross nudged his sister who just laughed harder.

Chandler knew that it was funny only because she knew everything – especially that his father was gay – and Ross didn't know a lot about his life, but he found Monica laughing absolutely adorable. And he always loved to see her laugh at what he said.

He smiled, kissing her hair as she talked with her brother. He was glad to see that they got along better than before, persuaded that they could become close eventually. He was more optimistic about other people's lives than his own, apparently. But maybe he could become friends with Ross again, as well.

As it turned out, Ross was a bit like him. They both enjoyed science, they both had a good culture and could joke about literacy or historical themes, they both weren't sure of what they wanted to do in their lives – although Ross had taken paleontology in College on a bet and was now very glad to be following this formation. And they both cared deeply for Monica.

* * *

_That's it for this story! It's a bit of an open-ending, that doesn't fully closes Monica's story line maybe, but the point was to focus on Chandler for this fic, and it's voluntary anyway ;)_

_Thank you all for your support, it was great to go back to this fandom and be able to share this fic with you! I hope you enjoyed it._


End file.
